


The Sun Doesn't Set in Space

by ThroneofMist



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Childhood Friends, Clay went fuck the Jedi order, Dream has to protect George and George is fuming, Friends to Lovers, I'll tag this more when I figure out where this is going lmao, M/M, Tommy is a little shit but we fucking s t a n, dont worry you literally don't have to have ever seen it, patches is a droid, right bhoys it is a Star Wars au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26379925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThroneofMist/pseuds/ThroneofMist
Summary: Dream left the Jedi Order years ago, now making his name as an infamous bounty hunter. He's doing completely fine alone though. He likes the silence. But when his childhood best friend's life is in peril, Dream must return to civilisation and the Order to protect him. Which would be a lot easier if George would just stop complaining. And finding himself at the end of a blaster.So maybe George is a lot more cranky than he was years ago, now a Senator with pressing responsibilities and relationships to maintain. But maybe he's also got this way of smiling that Dream never seemed to notice before.As Dream is tasked with protecting the Senator, Jedi Knight Technoblade and his Padawan Tommy start to discreetly investigate a seed of darkness amongst the Order before something worse than a Senator being assassinated happens.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 155
Kudos: 487





	1. Shoot First, Ask Later

It took a moment for Dream to fully remember where he was.

Head splitting as he blinked awake, the man pushed himself up onto his elbows, nose crinkling. Glancing down at the sleeping body beside him, everything came back in sharp flashes. Malt was a bitch for hangovers.

Brushing the soft blanket from his body, he stood up, bare feet met with shaggy carpet. Scanning the floor for his clothes, he sighed when he saw them crumpled up at the foot of the bed, smelling like shit. As he quickly got dressed, he examined the one room apartment he was in. A cramped yet tidy kitchenette, vases of flowers an attempt to distract from the fading glazed walls. It was a nice enough place. As nice a place you could get in the Underworld. Not nice enough for Dream to stick around though. They never were.

Gingerly tugging his sweater over his head, Dream ignored the fact that he smelled like a brewery. He shoved his feet into his boots and, grabbing his green jacket from where it lay discarded on the rickety kitchen table, making to leave.

“You want a cup of coffee?”

Dream repressed a strangled groan as he slowly turned on his heels, cocking his head at the woman in the bed. She was sitting up now, leaning on her elbows as she watched him carefully. Dream couldn’t remember her name. He couldn’t remember if he’d bothered to ask last night.

“No,” he shook his head, hands slung in his front pockets. He watched as she slid out of the bed, tossing her long navy hair over her shoulders as she sauntered towards the kitchenette, pulling out two mugs anyway. The neon lights outside cast dark shadows across her crimson skin, dancing over her nimble fingers as she started boiling water. His lips pressed together as his eyes fell on the pink marks along her neck. She just smirked when she saw him looking, dark pink lips quirking up.

“I said I was good,” Dream said, annoyance starting to build. The Zeltron just shrugged again, turning to tilt her head up at him. Dream resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He hated when people did this. Was why he always tried to leave before they woke up. Was just so much easier without having to interact. Especially when they always thought he’d stick around. For some reason.

“You never told me your name,” she mused, folding her arms over her torso, leaning her hips against the counter.

“No, I didn’t,” Dream nodded before he took a step backwards, hand reaching out for the door. “I'd say I'll see you around, but I definitely won't," he finished speaking with a shrug, throwing her a quick smirk before he ducked out, the kettle starting to hiss as soon as the door clicked shut behind him. A relieved sigh escaped Dream’s lips, followed shortly by an ‘ _asshole’_ sounding from inside the flat.

As he stepped out of the apartment building and into the streets of the Underworld, Dream quickly pulled his white bandana over the bottom half of his face, the material stopping at the bridge of his nose. Stretching his arms up over his head, he made to start off, quickly glancing at his watch before he realised, he only had an hour before his meeting. Oh, fuck. He couldn't be late again. 

Taking a step forward, Dream froze when a shattering sounded behind him. Grabbing the blaster from his belt, the man spun, already dropping into his fighting stance. But when he saw the smashed mug of coffee on the concrete and glanced up to see the woman leaning out of her window and holding up the middle finger, the man just held his up in her direction too.

Shoving his blaster back into his belt, he stalked off, weaving his way through the Underworld. The Coruscant Underworld was were Dream spent most of his time. He actually didn't mind it. Unlike the affluent, bustling skyscrapers that stood tall in the Galactic City, the main city of the planet Coruscant, the underworld was hidden beneath. Thousands of levels made up the underworld, all connected by rickety ventilation shafts and tight metal staircases. Toxic fumes masked the underworld, but Dream had gotten pretty used to it over the years. He liked it here, with the abrasive neon advertisements that littered the walls, and the hundreds of cantinas that sold alcohol for a tenth of what it costed everywhere else in the Galaxy. He liked the way everyone was too entranced in their own lives and problems to care about anyone else. He sometimes just liked walking, watching people as they passed him, oblivious to everything around them.

The urban canyon floors of Coruscant never saw the light of day, but no one who inhabited the levels of the underworld seemed to care. Dream certainly didn’t. He liked the dark. Hid all the shitty parts of everything easily. Dream strode through the underworld, but he didn’t walk with the rest of the melee. He leaped from roof to roof, hauling himself up gutter pipes and clinging onto tiles. Dream liked the gritty shiftiness of the Underworld, but he also liked walking above it. Made him feel like he was weightless. Untouchable as he soared easily through the air, feet hitting off of the ledges as he leapt.

When he dropped down onto the station's overhanging, Dream sat at the edge, legs swinging as he waited for the train to pull up.

As he did, he raked a tired hand through his hair, mouth feeling somehow sticky and dry at the same time. He only then noticed the stain on the sleeve of his jacket. Scowling, the man tried to scrub at it, to no avail. Swearing under his breath, he made a mental note to pick up something he could get it out with before he went home.

Dream’s jacket was the only actual possession he owned that he gave a shit about. Well, he guessed he liked Patches, too. Most days anyway. And he didn't really know if she even counted as a possession anymore.

Patches was the only person Dream could really stand being around anymore. And she wasn't even a person. Dream sometimes forgot that his droid was just that, merely programming. The R2 unit had been excessively cheap, and Dream had been in desperate need of a droid for a job he had to do. He'd figured out why she was so cheap pretty quickly after, when she'd started beeping back at him when he asked her to do something. He meant to sell her after that job. But for some reason the stupid little droid had gotten under his skin, and he hadn't been able to bring himself to do it. Instead he'd spent an entire afternoon painting black and brown stripes onto her while she trimmed his hair for him, little scissors poking out. 

The sudden screech of metal announcing the train that had pulled in, brought Dream out of his reverie and he pushed himself up onto his feet. Taking a step off of the ledge, he dropped into a crouch on the top of the train. Like fuck was he paying ten credits for a ticket. 

Hanging loosely onto a hold, Dream let the wind rustle his hair when the train shot off. He liked riding the trains of the underworld. Like how it felt like flying, like if he just shut his eyes he could just keep going, dirty air kissing at his skin as he rode forever and ever and ever. But he never did that. He always jumped off.

One day, he told himself as he let go off the train, boots hitting the ground with a thud. One day he'd just keep going. Dream wiped down his trousers of the ash and dirt that got stuck to him during the ride as he made his way towards the Essimpe Hotel. It was as lavish as a building could be in the underworld, with gold trimming and pale green curtains that reminded Dream a bit of sick. There were some parts of the Underworld that tried to pretend like they weren't. With their fake vases and cracked marble floors. It made Dream feel uncomfortable, like he was constantly being watched. Everywhere else here you could easily drop back into the shadows. But not here. Here the fluorescent orange lights shone down on you like an accusation.

Dream walked past reception, burying himself further into his jacket before he slipped into the stairwell. Taking them two at a time, his hair was sticking to his forehead by the time he reached the thirtieth floor, panting lightly behind his face covering. He found the room he was looking for pretty quickly, not bothering to knock before he entered.

“And he finally decides to grace us with his presence.”

Dream scowled at the man in the hallway, folding his arms as he took in Cad Bane. Bane was arguably one of the most infamous bounty hunters in the Galaxy. Right behind Dream, himself. But he was a snake. Something Dream had found out when Bane had landed him in jail a year back. But after a while as a criminal in the Galactic Republic you learned that water passed under bridges pretty quickly. But just cause he still worked with the guy didn't mean Dream didn't fucking hate him. He hated his metallic sounding voice, especially when it was aimed towards him.

“Shut the hell up, I’m ten minutes early,” Dream hissed from under his bandana, shoving past the man as he made his way into the main room. Khan was already there too, standing near the window, glaring angrily out at the city below. Everything Khan did was done angrily. Dream couldn’t stand this one either. But he'd hired Dream to take out a gang leader, and he wanted his money. 

“We’ve been here for an hour,” Khan commented, lips pursed into a tight frown. While Dream hated the man’s guts, he knew that the feeling was mutual. He just shrugged in response, digging his hand into his jacket, and pulling out a small pouch. Khan’s eyes flickered when Dream tossed the bag from hand to hand.

“I'd like my payment now,” Dream stated, clicking his tongue before he tossed the man the bag. He watched as Khan gripped at it, before he started digging his fingers into the pouch, face paling when he saw what was inside. His lips curled and his eyes shot up to meet Dream's in horror. Like the taller blond standing in front of him wasn't completely sane. "Thought you might want some proof the guy isn't around anymore," he shrugged. Khan didn't speak, just slammed an envelope down in front of Dream, which was swiftly moved into the inner pockets of Dream's jacket.

“So,” Dream started, picking up an apple from the expensive looking fruit bowl on the dining table. He threw it in the air before he turned to face Bane, who was now standing in the threshold, glaring at Dream. “What’s the job?”

“Spice from Jakku. I need you to bring it here.” Dream pushed his tongue into his cheek, rolling the apple in his palm.

“That's not what I do," Dream said slowly. He wasn't a spice-runner, didn't smuggle shit for people. Smuggling was too messy. Needed too many connections and needed to talk to too many people. Being a bounty-hunter was simpler. In and out. 

"The guild wants you to do it," Bane said through gritted teeth. Dream bit down his annoyance. He couldn't say no if the guild wanted him to. 

It had been five years since he'd signed up to the Assassin's Guild. He'd thought it would be easier than stumbling around the Underworld alone, a fifteen year old that could pack a punch but had no idea where to go or what to do. But now he was trapped in the Guild forever, until he could pay his way out. And no one ever paid their way out. Whatever, it wasn't like Dream would have anything to do with himself if he got out anyway. He was good at what he did, and that was kind of it. He owed the Guild his life. 

"How much?"

“A thousand credits,” Bane said gingerly, tone snippy as a feral grin broke across Dream’s lips. Right, maybe being a smuggler was messy. But Dream could handle messy for that much money. Dream could pretty much handle anything for that amount of money.

“Alright,” the blond man nodded, slipping the apple into his pocket. “Deal." He stuck his arm out, tanned hand extended for Bane to shake, when a knock at the door sounded. Time seemed to freeze in place as Dream's breathing hitched, arm stiff in the air. The three men shared a glance, worry passing over Khan’s gaunt face, annoyance passing over Bane’s. Dream tried to school his face into as indifferent as he could as his head quirked towards the door. His eyes were tight, jaw clenched under his bandana. 

“Go answer it,” Dream hissed at Khan. The man’s face paled. Dream grabbed a fistful of Khan's shirt, pulling the other man up off of the floor to meet his eyes. 

“Fuck you, bastard. _You_ answer it,” Khan objected, voice wavering slightly. Dream gave a huff of humourless amusement, pointing his long finger towards the door.

“Go get the fucking door, Khan.” And with that he dropped the man to his feet, watching sharply as he stumbled.

The man looked like he wanted to object some more, but when the sharp knocking came again, followed by a polite cough, he moved, leaving Dream and Bane alone in the main room. As soon as Khan started walking towards the door, time started again, air finding itself back in Dream's lungs. He moved swiftly, sprinting towards the floor to ceiling window. But Bane got there first. He threw a sadistic grin in Dream's direction before he shook his head condescendingly, roughly shoving the blond man backwards with his feet as he jumped out of the window, falling gracefully towards the ground. Dream snarled as he stumbled, falling onto his ass. He still had time; he could still abandon ship.

“Hello,” a drawling voice sounded as soon as the door creaked open. Oh, you have to be shitting me, Dream thought as he scrambled up to his feet. “I’m looking for a- oh there he is.”

Dream paused in his steps, slowly turning to see a man standing in the doorway. He was about average height for a human, but stocky in stature. He was wearing dark robes, a leather belt around his waist, and another looser white sweater thrown over his chest. Oh, for fucks sake. _Jedi_.

Throat bobbing, Dream watched as Khan roughly pushed past the Jedi, stumbling over his own two feet as he darted into the hallway. The Jedi didn’t even try to stop him. The man had his hood pulled up over his head, so Dream couldn’t make out his face, but he wasn’t too particularly worried about what the man looked like. Especially not as he took a step further into the hotel room, arms out as if to console a frightened animal.

And then Dream’s eyes fell on the ink tattooing the man’s tanned skin, and his heart thudded harshly in his chest. Before the Jedi could speak, Dream’s blaster was aimed at his chest. “Let me go,” he said, words coming out a lot firmer and calmer than he felt. “And I won’t fucking shoot you. Alright?”

“Dream-”

Ignoring the way the Jedi's voice broke slightly, Dream moved, blaster shooting for the Jedi’s legs. The Jedi moved easily, because of course he did. He was a fucking Jedi, Dream didn't stand a chance. But he didn’t stop, because the fuck else was he supposed to do. Finger practically spamming the trigger as he watched the Jedi reach into his robes, pulling out a fucking saber. Ah yes, because Dream’s day couldn’t get any worse.

The other man used his weapon to block Dream’s shots, the bullets instead flying back towards Dream. He hissed through gritted teeth as he darted to the side, avoiding his own shots. The Jedi didn’t try and attack him, just kept up Dream’s little dance. The crackling blue light from the saber was throwing him off. Whatever, Dream just needed to get him away from the open door.

“If you would just listen to-” the man started, voice strained as he used his free hand to gesture to Dream. But the blond assassin didn’t listen, instead making a break for it when the Jedi stepped towards him, leaving a gap in the door’s direction.

A hoarse wheeze left Dream’s lips as his feet hit the floor, so very, very close to the door. And then the door slammed shut. And Dream’s blaster was tugged out of his hand. Oh, Dream fucking _hated_ Jedis.

Turning around with raised fists, he frowned at the man who was just standing there, blue saber now out of sight as he cocked his head at the bounty hunter. “Look-”

Dream ran towards the other man, arms outstretched to attack, when his legs were suddenly being swept out from under him, and his back hit the floor with a sickening crunch. He barked out in pain and frustration as the Jedi roughly shoved his boot into Dream’s chest, his own blaster aimed at his face. He sighed, dropping his head against the floor as he held his hands up in defeat.

“Alright,” he sighed, glaring up at the ornate ceiling. The obnoxious gold plated chandelier laughed back down at him. Stupid fucking Khan and Bane had gotten away. When Dream got out of prison, he was going to kill them both. Maybe he’d strangle them, bare hands gripped around their traitorous throats. “Cart me off to your little detention centre,” Dream muttered, pale green eyes narrowed. “You’ve caught me. You know, I’m actually surprised they sent a Jedi. Aren’t you lot meant to be-”

“Nice to see you still don’t know when to shut the fuck up, Clay.”

Dream blinked up in confusion, all the animosity from his face erased as the Jedi shrugged off his hood. Sapnap, smirked down at him, dark hair falling in his ecstatic face as he leered over Dream. His oldest friend had his boot shoved into Dream's chest, but all that Dream could find himself focusing on was the fact Sapnap still wore that fucking white band around his head.

“Holy shit.”


	2. Who the Fuck is this Guy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy is a gremlin who climbs walls.

Tommy grinned as he brought his foot up quickly and slammed it into his Master’s stomach - causing him to groan, turn around, and grit his teeth. When Techno spun back, Tommy noticed the red blood trailing across his jaw. He must’ve bit his lip. A grin broke out across Tommy’s face as Techno’s eyes narrowed in annoyance.

Techno rubbed the blood away with the back of his hand before he rolled his shoulders back, red robes swishing. Tommy wanted red robes. But he had to wear the crappy robes that were the colour of sand. Didn’t get to wear golden rings across his fingers like his Master. Didn’t get to do shit until he was no longer a Padawan.

“I let you do that,” Techno said as he dug his feet into the dirt. The two of them were in the training arena, sparring in one of the pits. The place was mostly empty, bar Tommy’s best mate Tubbo, who was sitting in the stands, flicking through a book about flora.

“Okay, sure,” Tommy rolled his eyes as he crouched back down into a defensive position. Techno snorted before sliding back into his own fighting stance, face dead-pan as his fingers clench into fists.

They circled each other before Techno ran at Tommy, feigning a jab to his chin. The teen dodged and made to duck to the left, but the Master caught his left side and Tommy fell, hissing. Techno had him pinned. Tommy scowled; brows knitted as his Master grinned down at him.

“You’re off your game, kid,” Techno said, cocking his head.

“I’m tired,” Tommy muttered, looking for ways to get out of the situation. He really _was_ tired. Normally his Master didn’t get him down this quickly. He could normally hold his own for at least ten minutes. His bones were starting to ache, and his tiredness suddenly slammed through him. They’d been training for a solid three hours.

“Maybe if you didn’t spend all night sneaking around the city you wouldn’t be.” Tommy’s face paled, and his eyes instinctively shot towards Tubbo. Of course, Techno knew they’d snuck out last night. Tommy had just wanted to show him this cool spot he’d found to watch the suns set. And give the boy his birthday cake that he’d bribed the temple chef to bake. She’d initially turned him away, rolling her eyes and batting at him with the rolling pin. She’d never liked Tommy – not since he’d fallen over in the kitchens playing hide and seek as a youngling and spilled a month’s worth of flour across the floor. But once he’d explained it was for Tubbo, the woman had nodded and told him to come back for it in a couple of hours.

“It was Tubbo’s birthday,” Tommy tried, expecting at least a spark of sympathy from Techno – his Master was normally fairly understanding of Tommy and Tubbo’s shenanigans, well as understanding as Techno could get. But the man just shrugged.

His Master knew he was winning. But Tommy could fight dirty. He plunged his hand down into the dry dirt and grabbed some. He grinned as he threw it in Techno’s face. The teen was panting as he ducked away from Techno’s arms and rolled away, jumping up to his feet with a yelp of victory.

He laughed loudly as he watched Techno spit out dirt and wipe his face. “That’s infantile,” he pointed out, trying to shake the dirt out of his braided pink hair.

“Doesn’t matter. It worked,” Tommy shrugged. He rolled his shoulders back and jumped into his stance, but Techno was sighing and jumping out of the training ring, long legs swinging over the rope. “Where are you going?” Tommy frowned, leaning against the edge of the pit.

“I’ve got a meeting with the council,” his Master said, lips tight as he grabbed shook the dirt off of his robes. Tommy knew Techno didn’t like speaking to the council. His Master’s ears flattened whenever they were mentioned. Sneaking a glance at the man as he jumped up onto the robe, legs swinging, he noticed that his ears were flat against his head. Tommy grinned to himself; theory confirmed.

When Tommy had first been assigned to the Jedi Knight as his padawan, he’d asked about his ears. And Techno had just shot him a look that very clearly said, _shut the hell up before I send you back to the rest of the younglings._

Tommy was pretty sure Techno was related to some sort of hog species from way back. He’d tried to research it in the Jedi Archives a year ago, but he’d gotten bored after about an hour and given up. It’s not like it mattered anyway. And the long ears and short tusks that poked out whenever he was angry (normally at Tommy) were a dead giveaway the man wasn’t fully human.

All that mattered was that Techno was one of the most powerful Jedi Knights and four years ago he’d chosen Tommy as his padawan. And what was even more meaningful was that the man had kept him as his padawan.

“What’s the meeting about?” Tommy asked, tilting his head at his Master. Techno looked at him, biting his lip as he considered. He must’ve decided it wasn’t important enough to hide from his apprentice, or maybe he just didn’t care about the council because he sighed, shrugging down at the younger boy.

“I don’t even fully know,” he admitted, tugging his hair out of the loose plait he’d had it in. Techno’s hair went right down to a solid four inches below his collarbones. Tommy was pretty sure on anyone else it would look stupid, but somehow it made Techno look ten percent more intimidating. “Sapnap asked me to vouch for this guy I knew years ago.”

Tommy furrowed his brows, hands clutching the rope under him. He didn’t know Sapnap well, his only interactions with the guy coming from standing beside Techno as the two knights talked. He seemed nice enough, if not a little too blaze about everything. But he had managed to master the power of pyrokinesis like no one Tommy had ever seen, so that meant he was pretty cool in his mind.

“What guy?” Tommy pestered. “You don’t speak to anyone.”

Techno sighed, shaking his head before he grabbed his saber from the side and stalked out of the arena. “Tubbo,” Tommy whispered loudly, gesturing for his friend to follow before he ran after his Master.

“C’mon you can tell me. What guy?” Techno stayed silent, only sound his steady, harsh steps on the marble floor as they walked through the temple. Followed by Tommy’s rushed, stumbling steps. And then followed by more steps, which while tried to be silent, were incredibly loud as the other boy hurrying after them jumped from behind pillar to pillar. “Come on, Blood God. Who’s the guy?”

Techno froze in his tracks so suddenly that Tommy crashed into him, head hitting against the older man’s chest. “What did I say about calling me that in public?” Techno sighed, folding his arms as he arched an eyebrow down at Tommy. Ever since he’d heard from Phil, Tubbo’s Master, that Techno was nicknamed ‘The Blood God’ by the other padawans when _he_ was Phil’s apprentice, Tommy had liked to try and see how often he could slip it in.

“Who’s the guy?” Tommy asked, mimicking Techno as he folded his arms. His Master just made a strained groaning sound before he continued on towards the High Council Chamber. Tommy made to chase after him again, when he realised, he couldn’t move his feet. He snarled, glaring after his Master as Techno threw him a satisfied grin over his shoulder.

“That’s not fair!” Tommy protested, fruitlessly struggling against the invisible hold his Master had on his ankles. Sometimes Tommy really hated the Force. “Doesn’t matter. It worked,” Techno shrugged, throwing Tommy’s words back at him. Sometimes Tommy really hated his Master.

“Go entertain yourself while I’m busy,” Techno said to him as he walked backwards towards the lift that would take him up to the Council, hands shoved casually in his robes. Tommy pouted, folding his arms. “Go get ice cream or something with Tubbo. Yeah, I know you’re behind that pillar, Tubbo.”

Tommy turned his head to see his friend sheepishly stepping out from the shadows, smiling awkwardly at him as he shot a small wave towards Techno. “I’ll see you both at dinner. Don’t get into trouble, because then I’ll get blamed for it.” And with that the older man walked back into the lift, steel doors sliding shut in front of him.

Tommy’s ankles were suddenly let go off, and he almost decked it onto the floor, just managing to catch himself. Sighing, he pushed himself back up onto his feet, brushing down his robes as Tubbo came up beside him. “So,” the brown-haired boy said, smiling widely as he clutched his book to his chest. “Where do you wanna go get ice-cream?”

“We’re not getting ice cream, Tubbo,” Tommy told his friend as he started tugging him by the sleeve. Tubbo let him, and the two started sprinting down the vast bowels of the Jedi Temple, sliding round corners, stumbling into a normal walk whenever an adult walked past them.

“Where are we going then?” Tubbo asked, eyes wide as Tommy continued to lead him down spiralling halls. Finally, they reached the very edge of the Temple, and Tommy let go off his friend’s wrist, breathing heavy.

“We, my good friend,” Tommy started as he quickly scanned their surroundings as well as reaching out with the Force. When he was sure no one was around, he pushed open one of the floor to ceiling windows. The two of them stuck their heads out, glancing down at the great expanse of the city below them.

The Temple was one of the tallest buildings in the Galactic City, the rest of the skyscrapers looking like paintbrushes sticking up in the air. “We’re going to find out who this guy is,” Tommy finished as he pulled himself up onto the ledge. Tubbo’s face paled and, shaking his head uneasily, grabbed Tommy’s ankle.

“What if we fall?” he asked, eyes wide as he glanced down at the cityscape beneath them. Tommy bit down a scoff. They wouldn't fall. They were _Jedi_.

“Tubbo, come on, don’t be a pussy. We’ll be fine. Just,” Tommy shrugged before he started climbing, heaving himself up a sewer pipe. “Don’t look down.” He didn’t wait for Tubbo, knew his friend would follow him up, just started pushing his feet against the wall.

A couple of minutes later, when he was near the top, he glanced over his shoulder and grinned when he saw Tubbo behind him. “Almost there,” Tommy shouted, the slight wind carrying away his words into the bustling city of noises down below.

“Do _not_ speak to me,” Tubbo yelled back, gripping the pipe so tightly his knuckles went a stark white. “Just keep going.” Tommy rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue back, just kept climbing, boots knocking against the sandstone.

When he finally made it to the top, Tommy held out his hand to help haul Tubbo up onto the ledge he was crouching on. “What if they see us?” Tubbo whispered out shakily, head leaning against Tommy’s shoulder as he caught his breath.

“They won’t,” Tommy dismissed, craning his neck to get a better view. The High Council Chambers was just one massive glass dome, metal beams holding it in place. Twelve distinct velvet seats were organised in a circle for the Council, simple yet elegant. Tommy’s lips parted as he took in the intricate mosaic on the floor. He’d never been in the Chambers before. He hoped this wasn’t as close as he ever got.

The seats were all occupied already, and Technoblade was standing in the middle, hands clasped together in front of him. He was talking to Phil, and when Tubbo noticed his Master was there, sitting up straight in his red chair, he swore under his breath. “If we get caught, Tommy, I swear to-”

“Chill, man. They’re not gonna see us. Now shut up, I want to hear what they’re saying.” As soon as Tommy pressed his ear up against the glass, using the Force to enhance his hearing, the lift door slid open, and Sapnap entered, a masked and handcuffed man in front of him.

Tommy didn’t recognise this guy. He was wearing plain black trousers, cuffed at the ends, with stocky boots. Completely normal. Or he would’ve been, if it wasn’t for the almost obnoxiously green trench-coat he was wearing. The guy, even though Tommy couldn’t see all of his face, looked like shit. His blond hair was messy, like he’d been dragged backwards through ten bushes, and his coat had a dark stain on the sleeve. But the man held himself with an air of unwarranted confidence.

Who the fuck was this guy? And why was he even here? Why did Techno have to vouch for him? Actually, how the hell did Techno know him?

Too many questions were racing through Tommy’s mind. Too many to catch onto. So, all he could do was lean his forehead against the glass and watch as the scene in front of him unfolded.

The man’s head instantly snapped towards Techno. Tommy’s master kept his face schooled into boredom, but Tommy didn’t miss the anger that flashed over his red eyes. Tommy blinked in shock when a wheeze of laughter rang around the chamber. Everyone in the room stilled (even Techno’s back straightened) but Sapnap, who just roughly elbowed the man.

“If it isn’t the Blood God,” the man got out in between laughs, head thrown back in amusement.

“If it isn’t the asshole,” Techno threw back with an elegant casualness. Tommy clapped from where he was hiding, silently cheering on his Master against this abrasive stranger.

“Knights, please,” Phil said from where he sat, leaning forward with an apprehensive smile. “No need to start off on the wrong foot.”

Techno opened his mouth to no doubt object, but the new guy had already beaten him to it. “Don’t call me that,” he snarled, cuffed hands pointing in Phil’s direction. “Just tell me why I’m here. This dickhead wouldn’t tell me anything,” he sighed, head jerking in Sapnap’s direction. But the raven-haired man didn’t look annoyed at the stranger. He just let a toothy grin spread across his face, as if he was enjoying this. Techno, on the other hand, looked like he was barely restraining himself.

“There’s been an incident at the Senate,” Phil started, the eleven other council members leaning forward to listen.

“More than one,” Sapnap scoffed, promptly shutting his mouth when Phil shot him a glare.

“Alright?” the blond man shrugged, throwing Sapnap a confused look. “What the hell does that have anything to do with _me_?”

“A Senator has had numerous death threats made against them, and the council has thought it best that we try and ask you if you’d-”

“This is all falling on deaf ears,” the blond man interrupted, having the audacity to look bored by this whole ordeal. Tommy couldn’t help but scowl at him, even though he knew the man had no idea he was there.

“Oh, you have not changed one bit, have you?” Techno asked, laughing bitterly as he tilted his head up at the stranger. “Always had to be arrogant and obnoxious about everything, don’t you Clay?”

“That’s not my name,” _Clay_ snarled out, pale green eyes narrowing in fury. “Don’t call me that, you stupid fuc-”

“ _Enough_.” Even Tommy flinched at Phil’s voice, laced in exasperation. “You are not padawans anymore. If you cannot get along, you can merely leave, and we will find another solution to this problem.”

Techno clamped his mouth shut, jaw clenching, but Clay merely shrugged, looking pleased with himself. “Alright, great,” he said, clearly smiling behind his bandana. He turned to Sapnap, and held out his cuffed hands, jingling them together as he cocked his head. “Amazing. Now if you’ll just-”

“ _However_ ,” Phil started, and Tommy watched as Clay stilled, pushing his tongue into his cheek. “If you do not agree, you will be sent to the Galactic Detention Centre.”

“What?” Clay barked out as he spun on his heels, eyes wide as he glared at Phil incredulously. “ _Why_?”

“Do you really want me to list all of your crimes, Clay?” The man bristled at his name being used, but he didn’t say anything. Tommy watched as Techno smirked, fingers happily tapping on his arms. “Do you want me to list all the names of the people you’ve killed?”

Oh fuck. Tommy shared a surprised glance with Tubbo, both of them holding their breaths. So, this guy was a bounty hunter. Well, he certainly looked the part. Why the hell were the Council getting involved with a bounty hunter? A fucking arrogant bounty hunter?

“Most of them were shitty people anyway,” Clay said, voice too casual for the weight of those words. And the most of them made Tommy feel a bit sick. He bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the man in the stained coat tap his foot against the tilted floor. Who the hell was this guy?

“So,” Clay started, clicking his tongue as he scanned the Chamber, eyes roaming over all of the Masters. “What do you want _me_ to do about this pesky little senator problem?”

“Protection,” Phil said, smile back on his face as he watched this Clay character with a sort of familiarity Tommy couldn’t place. Clay nodded slowly before a feral grin leapt up onto his face, baring his teeth.

“Sure,” he nodded. “I look after your little Senator. And in return, you pardon me of all my…how did you put it? _Crimes_?”

“No,” Techno barked out, brows furrowing as he pointed an accusing finger at Clay. “Not a chance.”

“ _Techno_ ,” Phil warned, not continuing until the pink-haired man stood down, lips pursed in a tight line of badly hidden fury. “We will pardon you of your crimes, Clay.” Tommy watched as Techno's jaw hung open slightly. Tommy too was surprised that the Council had just agreed to let go of a bounty hunter's crimes, but he didn't fully understand why Techno looked so infuriated. 

“Oh, one more thing,” Clay said, holding up a chained hand. “You all stop calling me that. My name’s Dream now,” he added with an innocent smile, eyes flickering towards Techno. Tommy’s Master just kept his twitching eyes trained on the wall opposite him.

“Fine,” Phil said, sighing in vexation.

“So,” Dream started, running his tongue over his teeth as Sapnap came over to unlock the cuffs around his wrists. He shook out his hands before he slung them in his coat pockets, arching a brow at Phil. “Who’s the Senator?”

“It’s the Senator for Fouröh,” Phil said. He was speaking slowly. Like he was _scared_. Tommy racked his brain for anything he could remember about the planet Fouröh. All he knew was that it was a fairly important planet in the Outer Rim Territory. He’d been there once with Techno on a mission to meet with the King. It had rained the whole week, spitting on the cobblestone roads, grey clouds polite as they danced across the saturated sky. Tommy didn’t think he had liked Fouröh that much, but he didn’t understand why Phil looked so tense.

Glancing to the side, he noticed that Sapnap was acting off too, dark eyes blinking at Dream as he fidgeted with his leather belt. The only one who wasn’t acting like they were currently being forced to eat glass was Techno. Tommy watched as his Master rolled his eyes, tossing his hair over his shoulder as he raised his brows at Dream.

“ _George_ , you idiot. George is the Senator for Fouröh. He’s the one receiving death threats.”


	3. Technicalities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George walks home and then there is an incident.

“Why is Schlatt such a cock?”

George glanced up from the new reports he was scanning through, making eye contact with Bad, who was frowning from behind the desk. Wilbur’s voice carried into the room, followed swiftly by the slamming of the door, before the tall man appeared in the threshold connecting Bad’s sitting area to his office.

He didn’t hesitate, just stormed straight into the room, jaw clenched tightly. George bit back a snort as Will shrugged his blazer off, nose crinkling in fury. No one managed to piss off his Representative like Senator Schlatt. Wilbur didn’t even count Schlatt as a senator apparently, refusing to acknowledge the other man as anything other than his surname.

“ _Language_ ,” Bad sighed as Wilbur dropped onto the couch beside George, crossing his legs into a basket as he scowled. Will just lowered his brows at Bad, the blue markings on his brow bone crinkling.

Wilbur, like George, was from Fouröh, evident from the birthmarks on his face – two lines above his dark eyebrows and three small dots on his right cheekbone. George’s markings were a lot more obvious, a sweeping triangle under each eye, reaching to the top of his lips. He had hated them as a child, tried to rub at the blue skin with tightened as if he could erase them if he tried hard enough. Even though he mostly ignored them now, didn’t scrub desperately at them with his fingers, he still didn’t like how every time he was introduced to someone new, their eyes instantly went to the blue markings.

“What’s he done this time?” George asked as he placed the reports down, nudging his glasses off his face and onto his head, lying on his dark hair. Wilbur sighed dramatically, flinging his arms over the back of the couch as he rolled his head to look at George.

“He’s stolen Carson’s vote.”

“ _What_?” George bit out, anger now flaring up on his own veins. Now he understood why Wilbur had slammed that door like it had personally insulted him.

“Yeah, the stupid dickhead’s joined up with the Trade Federation, and he’s managed to sway Carson to vote with them instead of us.”

“But if Carson doesn’t vote for our proposal then the rest of the Inner Rim planets won’t either.” George gripped at his hair, brows etching together. They’d definitely lost Ted’s vote now, and probably all of his assossciates. That was about five major names now swayed to Schlatt and the Trade Federation’s side by association.

“Oh fuck,” he cursed under his breath, leaping up to his feet as he began to pace. When George was stressed, he paced.

“Can we all please stop swearing?” George paused in his tracks to pout at Bad, who was still lounging back in his seat. The man rolled his eyes before he sighed begrudgingly, standing up as he walked over to the fuming men from Fouröh. The Senator had continued his anxious pacing, wringing his hands as his patent shoes repeatedly slammed on the new carpet. And the Senator’s Representative had taken to lying down on Bad’s couch, head shoved into a pillow as he snarled angrily.

“We’ll figure something out, George. It’ll be okay.”

George looked up at Bad, face unconvinced. “I’m giving my speech in two days, Bad,” George groaned, gesturing with a clenched fist to the reports. The other man nodded sympathetically, flowing sleeves dancing in the air as he placed a hand on George’s shoulder.

Unlike George and Wilbur, who wore the traditional Fouröh dress code of straight legged trousers, well-fitting grey shirts and plain blazers, Bad’s Senate outfits normally consisted of hooded black cloaks that seemed to sway with a mind of their own.

“This was important,” he trailed off as he cast a wistful look down at the scattering of papers. George’s scrawled handwriting covered pages on pages. This proposal had taken planning and a shit ton of hard work. Wilbur and George had stayed awake on countless occasions, locking themselves in their apartment in the Galactic City until they’d written another draft of the speech. “The civil war on Ura is atrocious,” George murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Republic has to intervene. I thought I could…thought I could get them to intervene. Even just to send aid.” His hair fell in his face as he shook his head roughly, shouldering Bad’s hand off of his shoulder before he dropped back down next to Wilbur.

“I hate Schlatt.”

“Agreed.” Came a muffled response from Wilbur’s face, smothered by a pillow.

The three men continued to work on their proposal after Bad had managed to convince the two Fouröh representatives that all hope wasn’t in fact lost. Wilbur hadn’t seemed convinced, but George nodded along, telling himself that if he just kept working on it, if he told himself his proposal wasn’t dead in the mud, then maybe it would manifest itself into a reality.

They worked for others, Wilbur scribbling down notes as George spoke, hands clasped together as he walked in circles around the other two men. Bad wrote final desperate pleas to other Senators, begging them to see how intervention on Ura was the only reasonable plan of action. By the time Bad finally put his foot down and kicked them out of his office, it was already past midnight.

Will and George’s clicking footsteps were the only sounds in the Senate Building as they picked their way towards the exit. George stifled a yawn into the crevice of his elbow, narrowing his eyes when he saw Will giggling. “Shut the hell up,” he snapped at the taller man, jutting his chin out. His friend just snorted, rolling his eyes.

“What are you gonna do about it, Low Pockets?” he asked, arching his brow as he leant his elbow on George’s shoulder.

“I despise you,” George hissed, shoving Wilbur off of him as they came to the colossus glass doors.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, George,” Will winked before he turned on his heels, heading off into the city without a goodbye. George stood for a moment, arms folded as he watched Wilbur leave, the taller man just shooting a tight salute over his shoulder before the darkness swallowed him up. Leaving George alone in the front of the building, a couple of hovercrafts humming softly past on the road.

Running a hand down his arm, George turned in the other direction, struggling to keep his eyes open as he made his way towards his flat. Bad had offered to call taxis for them, but George liked to walk. Especially at night, when the city was empty, almost abandoned. Silence kissed at the air as he made his way through the clean streets, nodding his head to the same rhythm as his steps.

George knew the way home by muscle memory, so he just let his feet carry him as he swung around lampposts, metal caressing his fingers smoothly. He pulled back when the metal started to burn slightly. The Galactic City wasn’t currently hot, not by a long shot. It wasn’t even in the summer months on Coruscant yet, but George was from Fouröh. And even the slightest hint of warmth made George’s whole-body ache.

He shouldered off his blazer, bundling it up in one arm as he continued on. He missed Fouröh. It wasn’t like he didn’t like the City, he actually found himself itching to be in Coruscant a couple of months ago, missing the cubic, metal and glass buildings that always looked like they’d just been cleaned. He’d missed the neon adverts, trailers for new holofilms dancing across walls, videos of singers laughing as the date of their new song release popped up in front of them.

He loved Fouröh and its stone walls and thatched roofs. Loved his city with its spindling towers of cobble for the clerics and mountains that just seemed to go on and on and on, begging you to climb them, to spend your whole life merely walking across the moors of the planet. Loved the villages with their small homes, clay pots decorating window ledges, flowers of different hues of blue and yellow poking up from the dirt. He loved his planet so much he’d dedicated his whole life to serving the people who lived there.

But sometimes he felt restless, sitting in his wooden and stone house, lantern flickering shadows across his room. Sometimes his heart ached for the sleek elegance of his apartment in the Galactic City, with white tiled floors and grey painted walls. And then when he finally got here, it was euphoric for about a week; wandering about the city with Will, dragging him from store to store, trying out a new restaurant every night. Working with Bad, actually seeing his other Senators in the flesh, speaking to them rather than writing formal letters from his house in Fouröh. The City was undeniably beautiful, and George’s apartment almost made him weep every time he entered it after half a year in Fouröh.

Sometimes he just liked to sit on this soft, plush seat he had, and just look out of the window. There was just so much city, that every time he looked, he saw something new. He liked looking at the Senate Building from his view, laughing at how small it looked. He sometimes even found his eyes drifting towards the Jedi Temple, its four long towers climbing high up into the clouds, glass dome roof sparkling in the daytime, ominous at night.

A couple streets from his flat, he paused at a crossing, the last main road he had to cross. Above, he was met with flashing adverts, one for a new type of whiskey, and another for cheap droids. A huff of amusement slipped from the young man as the adverts switched smoothly, and he was met with the face of Maia.

She smiled down at him, lips quirking up into a sheepish smile before she blinked, revealing blue eyeshadow and thick black eyeliner. Her light eyes flashed open, and it was like it was really her looking down at him before the name of her new album appeared on the screen, the date of release blinking down beside it. Shaking his head fondly, George tore his gaze away, and crossed the road.

Seeing his friend’s face reminded George he hadn't actually told her he was in the city yet. He’d already been there a week, but he’d been so stressed he hadn't even had time to speak to her. The proposal wasn't finished yet. He’d call her when he’s finished. When he'd secured the vote. Whatever he had to do, he'd do. He repeated that in his mind as he walked, like a prayer in his head. He would drop to his knees in front of the whole senate and beg if he had to.

Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he turned down onto his street, pushing open his apartment building’s door with his foot. If he had to sell his fucking soul to Schlatt, he’d do it. He had to. Ura was in completely disarray, with thousands of innocent civilians getting swept up in a civil war.

Fishing for his keycard, George made his way up the stairs. He never took the lift to his floor, preferring to take the stairwell. He liked taking them two at a time, especially at this time of night, when the soft mumbling of sleep covered everyone else in the building, and he was the only one with his eyes open. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend he was the only person in the whole City. On the whole planet. He swiped the card over his door, ignoring the way his fingers were shaking slightly.

He wasn’t going to let this stress him out. He was fine. This was all okay. Dropping his blazer onto the hallway cabinet, George yawned, shaking out his hair as he walked to the kitchen, kicking his shoes off on the way. Eyes aching and throat dry, George grabbed a glass from his cupboard, turning towards his sink.

To see someone sitting on his kitchen counter.

George’s heart leapt into his throat as he scrambled backwards. The person didn’t move, and it was too dark to make out any of their features. “Leave,” George choked out, panic starting to drag him down. Tightening his hold on the bottom of the glass, George smashed the top part of it over the edge of the counter, holding the shattered glass out in front of him. “ _Leave_.” He tried to come across strong and intimidating, but his voice just cracked in terror.

He’d been aware of the possibility of someone trying to attack him. He’d been there when they’d blown up his ship from Fouröh, right after he’d gotten off, for fuck’s sake. But he didn’t actually think someone would break into his home. Surely no one could want him dead that badly?

George ignored the way his jaw trembled as he kept backing up, legs hitting the wall with a soft thud. The person was moving quickly now, jumping down from the counter as they held their hands out. “No, wait. I was just-”

“Leave!” George screamed, gesturing to the person with the glass shards he was clenching in his hands, but before he could move (he didn’t even really know what he was even going to do, it wasn’t like George could fucking stab someone), the person was reaching out for the light switch, and suddenly the room was basked in an artificial orange glow.

And Sapnap hovered in the middle of the room, cringing as George’s face went through a range of emotions too quickly for the younger man to catch onto any of them. Finally, his lean face settled on spitting anger, redness kissing George’s sharp features.

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?” The shorter man hissed, now fully aware of the neighbours above and below them. “Why the actual fuck were you sitting in my kitchen? In the dark? Like a goddamn psychopath?” He was clenching the muscles in his head so much he thought they might snap.

A grimace crossed Sap’s face as he shrugged awkwardly, dark eyes watching George carefully. “You wouldn’t listen to me!” he tried to reason, flailing his hands about. “I thought that maybe if I showed you how easily it would be for a trained professional to break into your house you would…” he trailed off as his eyes dropped down to George’s still outstretched arm. “Caraya’s soul, George. You’re bleeding.”

George blinked before his own eyes followed Sap’s, resting on the blood that was slowly snaking its way down his arm, dropping onto his clean tiles with a generous drip. “I just cleaned this floor,” was the only thing George could think off to say. He was still clenching the glass in his fingers.

Sapnap started muttering under his breath as he carefully moved the shards from George’s palm and into the trashcan, before he gripped George’s shoulders, manoeuvring him to the kitchen island. “Sit down,” he sighed, pulling a stool out for George, who was now blankly staring down at his arm he was cradling beside his chest.

“The only person who’s trying to kill me is you, Sapnap,” George sighed as he watched the Jedi rake through his kitchen for a medpack. “Top right cupboard,” George instructed, all the anger in his voice gone, now just replaced with a despondent sleepiness.

“That’s not true,” Sap frowned as he pulled something out of the cupboard, a satisfied laugh escaping his lips as he waved the medpack in George’s face. “Wilbur’s been plotting your murder for years now.”

“You’re an idiot,” George sighed, extending his arm out when Sapnap gestured for it. The Jedi’s fingers were calloused, the scars gently tickling at George’s own skin as Sapnap gently held his arm. “Why are you even here, Sapnap?”

“I have a proposition for you, Senator,” the man said, not looking up as he slowly placed a bactapatch on the wound on George’s arm. The shorter man hissed when the patch made contact with the cut, nose crinkling as his other arm shot out to grip onto Sap’s shoulder. The Jedi didn’t flinch, just continued to smooth out the patch on the wound.

“Don’t call me that,” George frowned, letting his arm lean on the island surface when Sapnap let go. “And my answer is probably no.”

Sapnap lowered his brows and tilted his head at George. This just pissed George off further. He hated it when Sapnap acted like he was a child. He was _older_ than him, for fuck’s sake. “George,” Sapnap said, all humour on his face gone. “I’ve got a plan, alright? It’s just some extra security measures. For your safety.” He added when George opened his mouth to protest. “Look, it’s not like it’s going to hurt, right? If no one’s trying to kill you, you don’t get killed. If someone is trying to kill you, you have someone there to stop them. You can't really say no, George. The Council's gotten involved now."

George glared at his friend, shooting him a look that read, _and who's fucking fault is that?_ Sapnap didn't respond with a look, just leaned forward on the stool, slumping his head down on the counter as he looked up at George.

“You following me around all day will very much so hurt my mental state, Sapnap,” George snarled, pushing himself off the stool as he stormed away.

“What if I told you it wasn’t me?” Sapnap called after him. George paused, glancing over his shoulder to see the other man leaning back on his stool, a lazy grin painted on his stupid face. “I don’t want any of your little Jedi friends either,” George frowned, folding his arms.

“Technically, he isn’t a Jedi anymore.” Sapnap smirked to himself, dropping eye contact with George to instead keep his eyes trained on his shoes.

George blinked. Then he blinked again. And then one more time.

“He’s back?” he asked, the waver in his voice betraying him. He was back? And no one had told him? 

“ _Technically_ ,” Sapnap said, wincing slightly. His dark brows knitted together, looking slightly pained as he avoided meeting George's eyes.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” George demanded, taking a step closer to Sapnap.

“Once you agree to my plan, George. I’ll tell you _all_ about what it means." George's eyes widened, lips tightening into a firm line. 

Sapnap clapped his hands together when George nodded gingerly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the amazing support so far guys! :)
> 
> also idk what's happening but there's an issue with the update dates, it keeps saying im posting this on the twelfth lmfao - I'm trying to fix it and I think it might be ok but if you dont wanna miss any updates you can always subscribe to get an email notification :)


	4. A Collective One Brain-Cell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream and Sapnap go brbrbrb.

Clay could feel the heat from the flames on the metal under his boots. The smashing sounds of the ship around him crumbling pierced his ears. But all he was concerned about was the sabre in his hands and the pale wrist he was tugging along in the other.

Sapnap was at his left, feet pounding against the floor as they desperately sprinted, chests heaving. Hayden was to his right, deflecting the oncoming shots from the pirates with his blue crackling lightsabre. And George was right next to him, hand in Clay’s as he led the way.

Fuck, they were going to be in so much shit. Clay clenched his jaw as he shoved the idea of his punishment out of his head, just ploughing forward. A group of pirates were at the end of the corridor, blasters shooting. Sapnap and Hayden were already moving, weapons twirling in their fingers as they leapt towards the pirates. Clay let go off George’s hand, gesturing for the boy to stay there for a moment. He had the audacity to roll his eyes before he nodded.

Clay snorted before he followed after the other two padawans, instinctively letting the Force guide him. He swerved past their bullets, saber hissing as it sang through the air. He took down one of them instantly, spinning around and impaling another. The body slummed off of his weapon with a hideous sludging sound. When he turned, Sap grinned back at him, no pirates in sight.

“I don’t mean to be rude.” The three padawans turned to meet George’s raised brows. “But how the kriff are you planning to get off of this ship?”

“We just saved your ass!” Sapnap objected, waving his saber in George’s direction. The teenager seemed unfazed, staring at Sap like he still expected an answer. “There should be a ship docking in the lower hanger as we speak,” Clay told George before Sap could interrupt again. “So, if you start _moving_ ,” he started, widening his eyes at George.

The four of them started off again, the sounds of the teenagers' laboured panting harmonising the screams of metal as the ship around them collapsed. A relieved grin broke out across Clay’s face as they turned, and he saw his Master’s ship docked already.

He heard the explosion before he saw it. The floor under his feet shifted terrifyingly, and Clay used the Force to keep himself on his feet, moving to grab George before he fell on his face. The unbearable flames of the explosion sang in the air. “Come on!” Clay’s head snapped to the right to see Sapnap waiting at the hangar, holding onto the dock with clenched fingers to keep himself steady.

Clay was about to move, George clutching onto his arm when an ear-splitting scream sounded. He froze, and everything seemed to slow down as he glanced over his shoulder to see Hayden further down the hall, just past the open metal shield-doors. The other padawan was on the ground, clutching at his leg as tears streamed down his face. “Clay!” he yelled, voice flaring in panic. “Help me, man. I can’t move my leg, fuck.”

Clay hesitated, breathing hitching as George’s hand on his arm became steadier. The flames were racing down the hall, ready to devour every single one of them. Clay reached out his arm towards Hayden, billowing sleeves dancing from the impact.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. Blond hair fell in his face as he shook his head. Hayden’s eyes widened in terror. “No!” he screamed, trying to crawl towards them. “No, please! Help me! Clay, you can’t-”

With a flick of his fingers, Clay used the Force to seal the doors shut, cutting off his fellow Jedi. The explosion of flames kept out as Hayden’s screams faded to nothing. “We’ve got to go,” Clay said, voice shaking as he started running towards the ship, pulling a frozen George along with him. His boots scuffed the ground, head feeling fuzzy.

When they reached the ship, Clay was met with a horrified Sapnap. He blinked, dark eyes swirling with emotion before he stumbled onto the ship, followed by a silent George and Clay. "We're good to go," Clay managed to shot down into the command room, letting his Master know it was time. No one on the ship had noticed only three youths had managed to trek onto the ship.

Hayden’s screams of pain echoed violently around Clay’s mind as the ship pulled out of the hangar, flying away from the destroyed pirate ship. Clay blinked down at his trembling hands, throat constricting and heart slipping as what he’d just done settled into his bones. “Clay.” His head snapped to the voice, hating the way George said his name. Like he wasn’t quite sure what it meant anymore. Clay opened his mouth to speak, even though it felt like he couldn’t even remember what words mean, when there was an ear-splitting slam.

George’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, shoulders hunched. Clay took a step towards him.

And then his eyes flew open, and Dream sat up straight, fingers clutching at the bedsheets. He muttered colourful swears under his breath as he ducked his head, chest rising and falling heavily.

“Sorry.” He looked up to see Sapnap standing at the foot of the bed, and even thought was too dark to see his face, Dream could hear what grimace in his voice. “Did I wake you up? I always forget about the door,” he sighed, gesturing to the wooden threshold. “Gets stuck. Didn’t mean to slam it. Forgot you were here.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dream murmured, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Sapnap just nodded, giving Dream’s shoulder a friendly punch before he disappeared off into the bathroom that branched off from his bedroom. An exasperated groan slipped from Dream’s lips before he dropped back down, back hitting the mattress with a creak.

It was fucking weird being back here. Like stepping back into an old body. Dream had tried for the past five years to completely ignore every single memory he’d ever made in his life. And it had been going great. Completely fine.

And then he steps back into this fucking temple, with its high roofs and marble floors and colossal pillars and so many kriffing _Jedi_ , and it’s like someone’s tossed him into space; skin being picked off second by second, body disintegrating.

And it wasn’t even like he’d only been forced to talk to Sap, which he could handle. He’d instantly been marched into the fucking High Chambers, handcuffed, and degraded in front of all of his old peers. In front of Techno. The bastard’s appearance had taken Dream aback for a moment; the hair and the new gold rings and chiselled face very different from the skinny kid he’d left behind here five years ago. But then the dick had narrowed his eyes at Dream, the exact same way he always did, and it was like he was fucking fifteen again.

Seeing Sapnap had been a shock that Dream could’ve ridden off for at least a year. Seeing his oldest friend with a beard, muscles and an extra five feet in height had been enough of a shock to the system. And then Phil and Techno, all the Council Members he’d had to confront throughout his childhood so many times he couldn’t remember…it was a _lot_.

And now he was lying in Sapnap’s room in the Jedi dormitories, memories he hadn’t thought of in years clambering back to the surface of his mind. But it was either this or prison. And Dream didn’t like prison food. At least here the bread was edible.

“Hey man.” Dream winced as the lights were turned on, everything going orange for a moment before it settled. Dream lifted his arm off of his face to look at Sapnap, who was standing in the doorway, changed into plainer robes. “You look like you need a drink.”

Dream couldn’t keep the smile off of his face as he arched an eyebrow. “You always used to say that when _you_ needed a drink,” he pointed out, even as he sat up, stretching his arms out.

“Well, now we can legally purchase alcohol,” Sapnap rolled his eyes. “No more sneaking in the back way like when we were kids.” Before Dream could speak, Sapnap was tugging at his arm. “Get changed, man. Hurry up.”

And that was how Dream found himself walking down the streets of the inner city, wearing a set of Sapnap’s robes that were too short to be comfortable, but not short enough that anyone would notice. He scanned his surroundings as they walked together, taking note of the saber hidden in Sapnap’s pocket, the way in which the younger man walked, like he had all the time in the galaxy.

Dream purposefully kept his eyes away from the closed stores after his eyes fell on a newspaper stand propped up against one of the shopfronts. After the words ‘ _Senator from Fouröh attends gala with up and coming singer, Maiamx,’_ viciously glared up at him, paired with a picture of a man dancing with a woman. Dream didn’t look for long enough to properly see George’s face. As he kept his eyes forward, he ignored the regret of not looking. He wondered if George had changed as much as Sapnap. As much as he had.

“So,” Dream looked down at Sapnap, snorting as the younger man awkwardly pulled at a loose thread in his sleeve. “How’ve you been?”

“Great,” Dream shrugged. “Getting by, I suppose.”

“Didn’t think killing people was really your thing,” Sapnap muttered, shooting Dream a sideways glance as they turned onto one of the busier streets, the two of them watching as a group of people stumbled out of a cantina giggling.

“Killing people’s always been my thing,” Dream dismissed, throat tightening as the nightmare crawled its way back into his head.

“Do you ever use the Force?” Sap asked. “To help you?” He sounded genuinely curious, their steps falling in line with each other’s as the sound of jazz music drifted out from the surrounding buildings. Dream shook his head, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“No.” He didn’t tell Sapnap how sometimes he let the Force carry him across buildings, letting it wrap itself around him as he jumped from roof to roof.

“Seems pretty wasteful,” Sap commented, but shut his mouth when Dream shot him a glare. “Look,” the younger man laughed, pointing to his right. Dream followed his eyeline to see the cantina they used to sneak into when they were sixteen, blushing as they snuck out of the temple, giving each other a boost out of their window.

“Think they still sell Ardees for a credit?” Dream asked, and the toothy grin he was met with made his gut hurt a little bit.

“Only way to find out,” Sapnap replied with a feral smirk, striding into the cantina. Dream followed, a beat after, and was instantly met with the harsh smell of alcohol and blaring music. It had been a couple of years since Dream had been in a cantina like this. Full of people mostly his own age, not a sea of gnarled, penniless crones or ruthless criminals and desperate smugglers. Where there was a dance floor and not just rows of gamblers, whispering illegal deals under the slight hum of jazz. It had been years since he’d stepped into a cantina with no other ulterior motive other than to enjoy himself.

He blinked down when he felt a hand grab onto his, frowning as he tried to tug his hand out of Sapnap’s. But when the younger man refused to let go, Dream allowed himself to be led towards the bar. “Two shots of Ardees, please,” Sapnap said to the bartender, finally letting go off Dream’s hand.

They didn’t speak until they downed the shots, the glasses hitting the counter at the same time. “I beat you,” Sapnap smirked.

“Get fucked,” Dream shook his head before he gestured to the bartender. “Do you mind if we keep them coming?” he asked, throwing the man his most simpering smile. The man sighed, but wordlessly started arranging more shots on the counter.

“Ah!” Sapnap yelped enthusiastically, punching Dream on the shoulder. The bounty hunter hissed in annoyance, eyes narrowing as his hand shot up to the shoulder that was undoubtedly already bruising. But before he could ask what the fuck that was for, Sapnap was already speaking, words tumbling out his mouth at rapid speed. “You still do that thing!”

“What thing?” Dream frowned, brows furrowing. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Where you smile, and your eyes go all crinkly and people just do whatever you ask. Shiraya’s word, George used to fall for it _all_ the time.” Sapnap laughed before he tanked another shot, nose crinkling at the taste. Dream just blinked, brain short-circuiting for a moment before he rolled his eyes. He wasn’t in the mood to speak about George right now. He didn’t know if he’d ever be in the mood to speak about his childhood best friend.

Instead of speaking to Sap, Dream tilting his head to look at the bartender again. “The Jedi will cover these,” he grinned, gesturing to the line of shots.

“What?” Sapnap exclaimed, lips parting. “Like fuck I will. You’re the loaded bounty-hunter now. You can cover them.”

“You want me to pay for this with my _blood money_?” Dream asked as he slid two empty glasses away, already picking up his third. Sapnap narrowed his eyes, holding up his own third drink.

“Loser pays.”

“You’re on, Jedi.”

He was four shots in, and he’d already lost Sapnap. He was pretty sure the Jedi was off dancing, but he couldn’t be sure. He just stayed on his stool, thinking about nothing apart from how to push out all of his thoughts and feelings. “Are you alright?”

Dream blinked, looking up to meet the eyes of the bartender. “You’re staring at that glass like it’s just insulted your mother.” Dream gave a huff of amusement, grinning when a blush crept up on the guy’s face.

‘You’re cute,” he said, cocking his head as he folded his arms on the bar. If the guy had been blushing before, he was now painted in red. But Dream wasn’t lying, the guy _was_ cute. And his brown hair and dark eyes really reminded him of something. But he just couldn’t place his finger on what, exactly.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” the guy shrugged, leaning on the counter so his face was only inches away from Dream’s. “When do you get off?”

The man tilted his head down to look at his watch, nose almost brushing Dream’s when he looked back up. “Ten minutes.”

Dream nodded slowly before he slid off of the stool, wetting his lips. “I’ll be outside,” he hummed, not dropping the man’s eye contact until he shouldered open the door. He was met with fresh air, the breeze almost cutting through his throat. He waited, leaning against the wall, until the sound of a door being thrown open sounded from a bit down the street. Dream slowly turned his head, lazy grin across his lips as he trudged towards the man, instantly leaning down.

The warmth sent something spiralling down Dream’s veins. This is what he needed. This is what he’d been needing for years now. Meaningless sex, with literally the first attractive person he set his eyes on. It was his system and it worked. He didn’t need a person. Just a body.

So, when the guy pulled apart to mutter _, your place or mine_ , against Dream’s lips, he replied with a hasty _yours_ , before catching lips on his own, mind fleeting as his hands, muscles and lips took over. At least he hadn't had to pay for the drinks.


	5. When the Tracker Fails

Tommy wasn’t as good at sneaking as Tubbo.

He didn’t know where his friend had learned to swing from pillars like he did, or where he’d learned how to blend into shadows like his body could just dissipate. And every time he asked his best friend how he could move with no noise at all, Tubbo just shrugged and told Tommy he just needed to practise.

Tommy couldn’t be bothered practising. He didn’t like doing things he couldn’t do instantly. But if he really needed to, Tommy could go on his toes and creep along corridors, stifling his loudness for a moment or two. And this was one of these necessary situations.

“Why do we even care about this guy?” Tubbo asked as he crouched down beside Tommy. They were sitting above the training dome, balancing on the stone beams that held up the roof. Techno was down below, sparring by himself. His Master moved quickly, quicker than he ever did when he trained with Tommy, his double sided purple saber crackling in the air.

“There’s got to be something they’re not telling us about him,” Tommy said, tilting his head towards Tubbo. The only thing Techno said whenever Tommy tried to press him about _Dream_ was to stay away from the bounty hunter. And the only thing Phil would tell Tubbo was that they needed Dream to protect one of the Senators. They wouldn’t say why they needed Dream specifically.

And Tommy hadn’t forgotten about the obvious personal vendetta Techno seemed to have for the man. And that just intrigued him more.

“So, what are we waiting for?” Tubbo asked, the teenager leaning over the beam to get a better look at the training Jedi. Tommy frowned, but before he could admit he had no idea, the doors to the arena slammed open, and his head snapped towards the sound to see Sapnap storming into the room, eyes furious and jaw clenched.

“He looks like shit,” Tommy commented and Tubbo nodded in agreement. They watched as the Jedi strode over to Techno, who hadn’t even paused his training for the other man.

“Have you seen Dream?” Sapnap asked once he reached the edge of the pit, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Lost your pet already?” Techno asked as he continued, saber twirling in his fingers. His deadpan voice was a sharp contrast to the anger dripping in Sapnap’s.

“I didn’t _lose_ him,” the dark-haired man objected, but the sheepishness in his voice betrayed that he probably did in fact lose him. 

“Well, I haven’t seen him,” Techno shrugged, not even looking over in Sapnap’s direction.

“I thought it would be a good idea to take him out last night. To, I don’t know…get him to trust me again? And it was going fine, but then suddenly I’m alone in the cantina, and he’s run off somewhere-”

“You took the bounty hunter to a _cantina_?” Techno asked, incredulously as he paused for the first time of this conversation, eyes widened in disbelief.

“I had a tracker on him,” Sapnap retorted, frowning deeply. “It wasn’t like he was going to be able to completely vanish.”

“And yet, here we are,” Techno sighed, extinguishing his saber so he could talk to Sapnap properly, even though his face was a cast of perpetual boredom.

“Yeah well, this morning when I woke up in my room alone, I figured out what must’ve happened pretty quickly. So, I use the tracker to pin down his location, this shitty apartment in the Senate District. But when I get there this fucking guy answers the door and tells me that yeah, Dream was here last night, but he was gone when he woke up.”

“Your friend hasn’t changed very much, has he?” Techno rolled his eyes, a darkness clouding his face.

“I don’t give a shit if he wants to fuck the whole of the city while he’s here,” Sapnap snarled. “I’d just like to have a heads up before he fucking vanishes.”

“So why don’t you use the tracker to find out where he is now?” Techno asked, brows furrowing. Sapnap sighed before he held up a thick belt, eyes narrowing as he watched it sway in the air.

“The tracker,” he continued to explain when Technoblade shrugged in confusion. “Is in here.” Despite himself, a grin broke out across Tommy’s face, and he bit back a snort. Maybe this Dream guy had more to him than being an asshole. “Oh, and he thought it would be amusing to leave a note for me,” Sapnap added, holding up a card with a crudely scrawled smiley face on it in his fingers before he bit back a strangled scream of frustration. Tommy’s lips parted in awe when the card suddenly caught fire, and burned to ash in Sapnap’s calloused hand, the jedi not even flinching.

“Now, that is pretty _amusing_ ,” Techno said, dry voice echoing around the hall. “You think he’s done a runner?” he asked, cocking his head at Sapnap as he clapped the ash off of his hands.

“No,” Sapnap shook his head. “That’s the most annoying part. He’s just being a pillock for the sake of being a pillock.”

“Ten credits say he’s done a runner,” Techno bet, a smirk dancing on his lips as two short tusks were exposed. Sapnap gave a huff of amusement before he nodded, clapping the other man’s hand. “Seem pretty confident for a guy holding a tracker that was meant to be on a nefarious bounty hunter.”

“He won’t run,” Sapnap said again, voice not cocky, but laced in conviction. “Not now he knows it’s George.”

“It’s been what…five years?” Techno asked, brows high as he shrugged his hair over his shoulder. “Friendships don’t run _that_ deep. Not when you’re dealing with an egomaniac like Dream.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sapnap hissed, anger taking over his face. “We were like brothers. Friendships don’t just break over time. That’s not-that’s not how it works. We were more than friends.”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell me,” Techno nodded dryly. “I remember your little trio. The loud pyromaniac, the cocky asshole and the shy little Fouröhian prince.” Sapnap opened his mouth to no doubt protest, but Tommy’s master was too quick, hands shoved in his pockets as he continued on with his damnation.

“What good did your little dream team ever do for anyone?” Techno pressed, voice rising. Tommy’s eyes widened. Techno’s voice never rose. Sapnap didn’t speak, just glanced away, fingers clenching and unclenching.

“That’s what I thought,” Techno sighed, taking a step away from Sapnap. “No, I don’t know where Clay is. And if I could spend however long he’ll be leeching off of you again not running into him, I’ll be perfectly happy.”

Tommy vaguely recognised the sound of the door being opened, but he was still stuck in shock as he watched Sapnap and Techno glare each other down. It wasn’t until Tubbo elbowed him that he blinked out of it, glancing down to see Eret and Niki stroll into the hall.

Tommy really liked Niki. She was probably the kindest person he’d ever met, with a soft voice and a wistful smile. Her cream robes were embroidered with stitched flowers of pale pinks and lavenders. Tommy had wondered a couple of times before that if he asked her, she might perhaps stitch some onto his robes.

Eret, on the other hand, Tommy didn’t like as much. It wasn’t like the Knight had done anything to him specifically, but there was something off about the guy. Something shifty behind his calm and collected exterior. Even his laugh always sounded predetermined.

“Oh, Techno,” Niki said, walking over to the two men who were still staring at each other, a silent, thunderous wrath surrounding them. Techno broke eye contact first, in favour of turning towards Niki. It was always funny watching them speak, with Techno being practically double the woman’s height.

“Phil mentioned wanting to see you,” she told him as Eret came up behind. “Hey Sap,” she smiled, but the other man was already storming off, head low. “What’s wrong with him?” she asked as she turned back to Techno, frowning slightly as she bit her pale lip.

“Don’t know,” Techno shrugged, before he shoved his saber into his belt. “I better be off then,” he said, clicking his tongue. “Just need to find Tommy and then I can-”

Tommy cut off his Master by leaping down from the stone beam, landing in a crouch in the middle of the pit. Niki yelped in surprise and even Eret gasped, stumbling backwards as Tommy straightened up, a smirk painting his face as he raked a hand through his hair. His Master just rolled his eyes before he looked up to where Tommy had jumped from, sighing when Tubbo gave him a little wave. “Come on then,” he shook his head, gesturing for Tommy to follow him as he strode from the training pit.

“See you guys around,” Tommy nodded to Niki and Eret as he jumped after his Master, the last thing he heard before slipping out of the door was Niki asking Tubbo how he was supposed to get down from there.

“I wonder why Phil wants to see us,” Tommy mused as he caught up to Techno, his own saber hitting his legs as he ran.

“He wants to see _me_ ,” Techno corrected. “And I suppose we’ll see when we get there.”

“So Sapnap is friends with this Dream guy?” Tommy asked, his boots clicking against the marble floor as they made their way to Phil’s office. Techno just nodded in response, keeping his eyes trained ahead. “And this Senator that everyone’s freaking out over, he was their friend too?”

“Yes, I suppose he was, Tommy,” Techno sighed, visibly annoyed. “Why are you asking me about this?”

“Because,” Tommy shrugged. “You’re refusing to tell me anything about it. And something is clearly going on.”

“I don’t know Dream’s whole life story.” His Master’s tone was laced in increasing anger, but that didn’t waver Tommy. “If you’re so interested, maybe you should go ask him.”

“Well, he’s ran away,” Tommy pointed out, arching an eyebrow as his Master shot him a sideways glare.

“I suppose he has,” he agreed, voice a mumble as they came to Phil’s door. Before Tommy could point out that Techno was the one who had been adamant Dream had abandoned them, his Master was knocking on the door in front of them, and ushering Tommy in quickly when they were met with a, come in.

“Technoblade, Tommy, good morning.” Phil stood from his chair and walked over to them, meeting Techno with a clap on the back and ruffling Tommy’s hair before he beckoned them to sit down.

“I take it Tommy can stay for this,” Techno said, red eyes flicking up to Phil as he slid into one of the plush chairs in front of the desk. Tommy scowled, dropping into the other chair as he folded his arms. But Phil just nodded, shooting Tommy a grin as if they both knew a secret that Techno didn’t. “Yeah, the kid’s alright to stay. I actually think you should take him on this assignment.”

Tommy sat up in his chair, back straight, at that. He’d already been on a couple of assignments with Techno, but he’d never been there for the delivery of the mission. He’d always just been hanging out with Tubbo, when Techno would appear and inform him, he had an hour to get ready to go on an assignment. He never even really knew why they were off to other planets to meet with Queens and Kings and Senators and pirates until it was over, and they were back in the Temple.

But now Phil trusted him enough to let him attend the meetings. Tommy couldn’t wait to tell Tubbo. He tried to cast his face into indifference, trying to hide the way he couldn’t seem to sit still, shifting in his seat.

Techno glanced down at Tommy, and he swore there was a hint of pride in his Master’s red eyes. But before he could do anything, Techno was looking at Phil again, leaning back in his seat, hand under his chin. “So, what’s the assignment?”

“Senator George Enes from Fouröh,” Phil said, all the amusement and warmth from his face gone, replaced with the face of the Grand Master of the Jedi. Tommy followed suit, sitting on his hands so he couldn’t fidget.

“We need to know who’s trying to assassinate him,” Phil continued as a hologram appeared on the desk, showing two men walking side by side. Tommy immediately recognised the taller one as Wilbur Soot, who had been the one to show him and Techno around Fouröh a couple years ago. He had played guitar for them one night in a pub, and Tommy had decided he liked the astoundingly tall man.

The other man, however, Tommy didn’t recognise at all. He was shorter than Wilbur by miles, dark hair neat and combed to the side. He didn’t look like a guy who smiled a lot. “Short rundown,” Phil said as the hologram zoomed in on the well-put together man. “Twenty-three years old. Youngest Senator ever elected to the Galactic Republic. Was the Crown Prince of Fouröh before he abdicated the crown to run for Senate instead.”

Tommy frowned, leaning forward to get a better look at the man. Why would you ever give up being King to work for the Senate?

“Why do we care so much about this one Senator?” Tommy asked, cocking his head as the hologram disappeared.

“George Enes is one of a minority of Senators who are trying to stop the civil war on Ura,” Phil said, looking up to meet Tommy’s eyes. “The Council want that war stopped. If George dies…” he trails off, shaking his head before he clapped his hands together. The hologram reappeared, but this time instead of showing Wilbur and George walking side by side, it showed a ship landing. Tommy watched with parted lips as Wilbur and George walked off, laughing with each other as they strolled down the landing ramp, when the ship behind them burst into flames. George and Wilbur were flung through their air, landing in heaps on the landing pad. The hologram cut out. “You need to find out who’s doing this before they succeed,” Phil said, voice stern.

“You cannot fail.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been so long guys, but thanks again for all your lovely comments! :D


	6. In The Shit

It was a lot easier to sneak into the Senate Building than it probably should’ve been. Dream couldn’t help but think that maybe if they just had even reasonable security already, then he wouldn’t have been dragged into this shitshow.

He tugged at the sweater he’d stolen from the guy from last night, or well, he guessed this morning. It was still a bit short on him, but the guy had been taller than at least Sap, so Dream had decided this would be a better fit. And, it made him look less conspicuous than the Jedi robes. He wasn’t even going to think about the tracker Sapnap had tried to hide in the belt he’d given him.

A smirk danced on his lips as he imagined the face Sapnap would pull when he rocked up to the guy’s flat, asking for him, only to find the note. Maybe he’d already been there and was now trying to hunt Dream across the city. Or maybe he’d given up, electing to just let Dream fuck him over and make a dash for it.

Dream still wasn’t really sure which option he was going to go for.

When he’d woken up that morning, blinking as the morning light streamed in through shaky blinds, removing himself quickly from the shitty mattress and pinching clothes before he slipped out of the door, he’d planned his route out of here.

He’d been striding down the main street, head down as his eyes flickered from person to person, on the lookout for any police droids or stray Jedi as he made his way through the sea of people striding down the street. And then his eyes had fallen on the Senate Building, rising above all the other buildings, and a thought had crashed into Dream’s mind.

And he’d tried to push it out. Had tried desperately to ignore the idea, because it would make everything so much worse. Would make everything harder.

But he didn’t seem to have control of his body as he slunk through the crowd, picking up the pace as he headed towards the building, fingers clenching into fists. With each step he took, his heart started to pound harder, and when he finally reached the opulent building, his eyes widened.

He’d only been to the Senate a handful of times, trailing after his Master when he’d been a padawan. He’d never liked the Senators; always thought they were pretentious and superfluous. Why did you need Senators to run the Galaxy when you had the Jedi? It had never made sense to Dream. And as he stood at the bottom of the steps that led up to the entrance, and Senators brushed past him without a second glance, Dream had the sudden urge to just disappear. To just dissipate into nothing, to just melt into the ground below him. That would be glorious.

But he didn’t do that. He just took a step forward, and another, and another, until he was right outside the glass door. And then he just slipped into the melee of people, keeping his head down as he walked in time with them, holding his breath until he made it in.

He’d forgotten how empty this place always had felt to him. Just seemingly endless corridors of grand sandstone and intricate glass, leading to the same office repeated over and over and over again. Everyone here wore the same fake smile, dressed up in the traditional garb of their home planet as they debated laws that had been decided from the get-go, or pranced around, indulging themselves in ostentatious food as they hid behind a veil of representing their people.

Dream fucking hated it here. But he couldn’t find it in himself to turn around and walk out. Instead, he continued further into the belly of the beast, keeping to the edges as he weaved in and out of corridors. Now he’d set his mind on tracking down his old friend, he couldn’t get it out of his head, the image of a sixteen-year-old George scraping roughly against his head.

_“You’re so bad at this game,” a fifteen-year-old Dream wheezed, watching as George glared down at the sarlaac cards._

_“Shut up,” George hissed, slamming his deck down on the table. “It’s not like I’m ever going to need to play anyway. It’s for gamblers, smugglers and bounty hunters.”_

_Dream smiled, leaning his head on his hands as he tilted his head up at George. “Not for the likes of pretty princes then?”_

_“You’re a dumbass.”_

He would just introduce himself, or well, reintroduce, he supposed. He was being forced to work with him, he needed to see him eventually. And if it was on Dream’s terms, he could deal with this whole situation. Probably.

It wasn’t like Dream had thought about George for five years until this had happened anyway. It had just been a childish crush, Dream latching onto one of the only people who had ever shown him affection. He just hadn’t been able to handle the feelings of validation George had given him when he was a teenager, and that had merely manifested itself into that aching feeling in his heart he’d got every time George spoke to him.

It wasn’t like he still had a crush on the man. He didn’t even know this George. He’d known the Crown Prince, who had hidden behind a mask of shyness to his citizens and burst into technicolour when he’d been with Dream and Sapnap. He didn’t know this Senator George. Who was supposedly in a relationship with some singer anyway. Maybe George would be a dick, and Dream wouldn’t even have to worry about it. He was used to working with dickheads.

As he ambled through the repeated halls, fingers running over the panelling decorating the walls, he put on a pretence of being in thought, as his eyes scanned over every person who passed him. And then he turned left, and Dream heard him before he saw him.

“You’re late.”

Dream blinked as his lips parted, muscles suddenly feeling very stiff. George was there. In the flesh. With long arms and lean legs and a pale neck and rolling eyes and breathing. Dream started short-circuiting, brain resetting as he watched a tall man approach George, shrugging with a smirk on his lips. George didn’t return the gesture.

Dream stumbled to the side, hiding behind a column as his heart rattled in his chest like a rock smashing up a wooden box. Brows furrowing, he dropped his back against the stone, digging his hands into his hair. Holy shit.

He took in a few shaky breaths before he ran his hand down his face, nodding to himself. This was fine. He repeated that in his mind as he gingerly peaked his head out from the column, eyes trailing over George as he spoke to the taller guy, hands waving with an air of annoyance.

He was short. Probably a full six inches shorter than Dream. That was new. They’d been around the same height when he’d last seen his friend. Friend. George wasn’t his friend anymore, right? They hadn’t spoken in years. Dream hadn’t…he hadn’t tried to speak to George after he’d made his mind up on leaving the Jedi. Everything- everything had been too sore, and raw, and then too much time had passed, and it had been too late to contact anyone and…

Dream screwed his eyes shut as he desperately tried to calm his breathing, stone cool under his calmy hands as he clung to the pillar. When he opened them again, George wasn’t speaking anymore, and the taller guy had disappeared, leaving George in the corridor alone, skimming through some document.

He should just go speak to him. But the ground under Dream’s shoes had turned into a sea of clambering hands, holding him down in place. He swayed on his feet slightly, watching as George absentmindedly leaned against the wall, fingers nimbly turning over paper.

George had always been cute, but this George was almost painfully attractive. His features were sharp. All lines and edges. He bit his bottom lip, causing his jaw to tense, and Dream couldn’t do anything but blink.

This George was a lot more intimidating than his George. The George Dream had kept stored in his mind was quiet, almost to a fault. Too terrified of authority to ever suggest breaking rules, but always brave enough to follow Dream and Sap when they did. This George looked untouchable, in his mustard blazer and sweater, his clean and sharp looking shoes reflecting light off of them.

Dream cringed down at his own, stolen, clothes. He tugged at the hem of the jumper he was wearing, as his eyes fell on the blue markings on George’s cheeks, running down beside his cheekbones. Those hadn’t changed. Those seemed like the only things that hadn’t changed.

And the glasses pushed up onto his hair.

Dream’s breathing hitched when George looked up, dark brows creasing, and he swore under his breath as he dived back behind his hiding spot. No, not hiding spot. Just spot.

He wasn’t hiding from George, that would be ridiculous. He was just waiting. He frowned as he looked down at himself again, sighing when he noticed a stain on his trousers. He looked unprofessional. He couldn’t go introduce himself as George’s bodyguard when he looked a fucking state. Especially not when George looked like _that_.

No, he’d need his jacket.

Dream held his breath as he walked out from behind the pillar, keeping his head forward as he walked down the corridor, back to George. He twitched, getting the horrific feeling that someone was watching him, but he refused to turn back, picking up the pace as he escaped from the suffocating building.

When he reached the foyer, brashly shouldering open the open, Dream crashed into someone. “Kriff, sorry,” Dream muttered quickly, trying to keep his head down.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” the person laughed, and when Dream glanced up, he was met with an ominous robed person, the hood so far over their head, Dream couldn’t even make out their face. “Should’ve been looking where I was going.”

Dream just nodded before he quickly stepped out of their way, just keeping his mind focused on not tripping up as he ran down the stairs, weaving in and out of the onslaught of politicians filing in.

He let out a deep exhale when he reached the main street, ribs feeling tight and head feeling heavy. Caraya’s Soul, he really fucking hated himself sometimes. Why the fuck did he do that? He should never have even gone in there. That was so fucking stupid. And now he couldn’t stop thinking about George, every single thought and feeling he’d been oppressing and ignoring for the last five years of his life scurrying out of his skin, choking him.

“Mother of moons, it’s you!”

A light and surprised voice pulled Dream out of his spiral, and he lifted his head from his hands, narrowing his eyes at the person in front of him. It was a kid, with floppy dark hair and a wide grin.

“Do I know you?” Dream went to ask, straightening up as he stared down at the child, but the kid was already speaking rapidly into a communicator, laughing brightly. “Tommy, Tommy, I found him, man. Yeah, yeah, I did. Near the Senate.”

There was no way this kid was part of the Coruscant Security Force. He looked like fourteen at most. It wasn’t until the kid moved his arm, and his robes exposed the lightsaber hanging at his side did Dream realise. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Me and my friend have been looking for you for hours,” the kid laughed when he looked back up at Dream, not picking up on what the glare Dream was sending him meant. He just started speaking again, a blur of words as he grinned widely up at Dream. “We heard Sapnap asking Techno if he knew where you were, and then Sapnap said you’d disappeared, and Techno bet that you’d run away.”

Dream’s fingers clenched into fists at his sides. Techno was such an ass.

“ _Are_ you running away?” the kid asked him, brows lowering as he finally seemed to take Dream in properly, taking a small step back.

It was too early for this.

“No,” Dream shook his head, brows creasing as he sighed. “I’m not running away. Techno can hand over his credits to me for that bet.”

That seemed to reassure the kid, because that toothy smile was back and suddenly a small hand was gripping at his sleeves, tugging him down the street. “I’m glad you’re not running away. You seem very intriguing. And my Master needs you.”

So, this was Phil’s new Padawan.

“My name’s Tubbo, by the way,” the kid told him, glancing up at Dream sheepishly. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Dream didn’t bother correcting the kid. Was too drained to tell him the Temple would never be a home to someone like him. He’d already burned that bridge years ago. Didn’t tell the kid he didn’t have a home. Didn’t think he’d ever have one.

As Tubbo practically dragged Dream back to the Temple, Dream just saw blue eyes everywhere he looked. And he realised he was already in the shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh ik ik they were this close, but I promise next chapter they'll finally actually speak to each other lmfao


	7. Showtime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry its been so long, this was meant to go up two days ago but then I checked it today and it just hadn't so that was a bruh moment lmao

“You’re late.”

George scowled as Wilbur ambled over to him, humming some song as he nodded his head to himself. The bastard just shrugged; one hand slouched in his trouser pocket, the other resting on his satchel as he came to a stop in front of George.

He debated refusing to speak, just narrowing his eyes at his tall friend and demand to know why he was late. But Will had that lazy grin on his face that told George what kind of annoying mood he was in. Whatever, as long as he pulled himself together for their proposal.

“They pushed back the speech,” George sighed, pressing his lips into a firm line. “We’ve got another half hour. Which you,” he shot a foul look up at Will. “Should be grateful for. Since you were clearly never taught proper time management skills.”

Will rolled his eyes before he started racking around in his bag, pulling out an array of papers before he held them out to George, brows raised, smirk tugging on his lips. George eyed them suspiciously before he snatched them out of Will’s hand, brows knitting together as he scanned over them. Scrawled lists of names peered up at him, as well as charts depicting how much the Trade Federation was spending currently.

“What’s this?” George peered back up at Will, holding up the papers with a frown.

“This, Georgie,” Will grinned, eyes sparkling maniacally. “Is our secret weapon. See here,” he said as he peered over George’s shoulder, pointing to the charts with his long fingers. “The Trade Federation’s output of money hasn’t been marked down correctly. They’ve been funnelling money to the Salus Corporation. See.” He handed George another chart, clearly showing that the Trade Federation had a contract with Salus Corporation for a much smaller sum of money than what they actually seemed to be paying them.

George blinked. “But Salus make weapons for bounty hunters, right? Why would the Trade Federation be employing them?”

“They’re paying for this war, George. The war on Ura? It’s _them_. I don’t know why or how, but they’re involved in this somehow.”

“This is how we take down Schlatt,” Will laughed as George gripped the stack of paper so tight his fingers ached. He let out a toothy grin, eyes wide as he looked up at Will, who’s face matched George’s.

“How we stop the war,” George agreed, pushing his tongue into his cheek. He stayed where he was when Will told him he was going to go find Bad before the assembly, stalking off down the hall and leaving George in the corridor, gripping the papers to his chest. Holy fuck. This was big. This was so fucking big.

Resting his head against the wall, he looked up, unable to quench the tight feeling in his gut. The news from Will had been enough to distract him from his nerves for a moment, but now he was alone again, and all George wanted was for the ground to swallow him up.

He loved politics. Breathed it, literally gave up his life to dedicate himself to providing for his planet, for his people. But he didn’t particularly enjoy speaking in front of the Senate. He wasn’t completely stupid, he knew what they all saw when they looked at him, the youngest ever senator.

They saw a spoiled kid. Saw a prince who had gotten bored of his ground and decided he wanted to try his hand in politics. They didn’t care that he’d been elected by his people. Had worked hard every day of his life to get here. They just saw someone who’s voice didn’t matter.

And the weight of that was sometimes too much to bear.

George sighed, looking forward into the empty hall stretching out in front of him. He rolled back on his ankles as he watched some insanely tall guy practically stumble down the corridor in a rush, skidding around the corner before George could properly see him. He didn’t look like a Senator, but you never really knew.

“Let’s go, Low Pockets. Showtime.” Will’s grating voice pulled him out of his reverie, and George looked to the side to see him and Bad waiting. Nodding stiffly, he followed after them, swiftly jabbing Will in the side.

“Keep calling me that and we’re going to have issues, Soot.”

“Do well with this speech and it’ll never be mentioned again,” Will said as they came up to the entrance to the Senate Chambers. George’s breathing hitched as his eyes fell on the podium he was about to stand at, thousands of people ready and waiting. For him.

He bit his bottom lip, adjusting his blazer before he let his breathing go. Giving Will and Bad a small nod, he walked up to the podium, placing the papers down onto the surface before he looked up.

The weight of the world glared back down at him. But George merely placed his hands on the podium, straightened his back, and took it on his shoulders.

“I’m George Enes, Senator for Fouröh. And I’m here to plead for peace.”

His speech lasted about an hour, and by the time he was done, his hair was sticking to his forehead. Ears ringing and head throbbing slightly, he just tried to concentrate on keeping his legs still, the threat of them buckling a growing concern with every minute he was up there.

A couple of Senators, including Schlatt (who as soon as George was finished with his speech, leapt up to his feet, balled fist waving in the air) demanded a question session as soon as he finished. George gulped, glancing behind him to widen his eyes at Will who just shrugged, shaking his head wildly. He couldn’t let himself get involved with a debate right now, needed to keep their secret weapon up his sleeve until he could convince more Senators to join their side. And he wasn’t particularly in the mood to have Schlatt shout down at him for an hour straight.

“There has been no floor debate scheduled, Senators,” Chancellor Valorum said, voice cutting through the stream of chatter coming from all around the room. George tried not to let his relief show as he leaned against the podium. “We shall pencil one in for another time, and memos will be sent out to those who wish to attend. For now, this session is adjourned.”

As soon as that was said, George practically ran down from the podium, grabbing all his papers before he took the steps two at a time, barrelling into Will, who stood waiting for him with his arms outstretched. “Mother of Moons,” he swore as he buried his head into Will when they reached the privacy of an empty corridor. “How was that?” he found the courage to ask when he pulled back, peering up at his friend.

“Incredible, mate,” Will grinned, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’ve got to stop doubting yourself. It always goes incredible. You’re the best speaker in the whole Senate, I’m telling you.”

George rolled his eyes as they started making their way down the hall back towards their shared office. “Where’d Bad go?” he asked, shoving his hands into his blazer pockets to ignore the way they still shook.

“To talk to the Chancellor,” Will said, pausing when they reached their door. “I’ve got something on, but I’ll see you tonight at the dinner, yeah?”

George sighed as his fingers stilled on the doorknob. He’d forgotten about the dinner. “Do I have to?” he asked, leaning against the door with a huff. Will rolled his eyes, shooting George a look that clearly said, _you agreed to this a week ago, pull yourself together_.

“Don’t forget to bring a date, Low Pockets,” Will called as he started off down the hall, shooting finger guns at George as he went.

"What happened to not calling me that?" George shouted down after him, but Will was already gone, vanishing around the corner. A huff of amusement echoed around the empty corridor as George rolled his eyes, shouldering open the door. He blinked when he pushed it open to find two people in his room. One was perched on his desk, the other in his chair, facing the window. “Can I help you?” he asked, folding his arms, voice laced in polite annoyance, before he realised who at least one of the people were.

“Sapnap, the fuck did I tell you about breaking into my office?” George snarled as he dropped the stack of papers onto the ridiculously expensive yellow chair Will had used their expenses to pay for.

“That it is unnecessary,” came Sapnap’s reply, accompanied by a shit eating grin.

“That it is _unnecessary_ ,” George repeated, nodding along sardonically slowly, narrowing his eyes at his friend. “Get out of my room,” he demanded, frowning, before he glanced over at his seat and the person settled in it. Who the fuck had Sap brought along with him this time. George blinked at the blond hair, grimacing when he realised it might be Tommy.

“No can do, Senator,” Sapnap grinned, clapping his hands as he leapt down from George’s desk.

“Don’t call me that,” George muttered as he kept his eyes trained on the man in his chair. He was wearing a very long green trench coat – which looked like it had seen better days. There was a dark jumper under the coat and a hood over his head. That was pretty much all George could make out, even as he shuffled closer to try and get a better peer.

The guy must’ve felt George’s eyes on him, because he looked over his shoulder. George was slightly taken aback by the sight of green eyes latching onto him instantly. Then his lips parted, heart pausing very slightly. No.

“I’ve brought the muscle, me being the brains of this operation, obviously.” Sapnap’s voice got quieter, faded out, as George’s own eyes widened. The green eyes blinked, swirling intensely as they didn’t drop from George’s. “Was thinking we could do a little trial run at this dinner of yours tonight, see how it goes. How does that sound?”

George took a step back, throat going very, very dry as he shook his head absentmindedly. The green eyes didn’t flinch. “ _Clay_?”

As the very sudden and almost painful realisation of what the fuck was happening started clicking in George’s mind, he started wringing his hands, jaw feeling too slack for his face. He blinked again, only now fully taking in the appearance of his old friend. He was a lot fucking taller than he had been, and his build had evened out.

George found his chest constricting as his eyes ran over the outfit, and then the bandana covering half of Clay’s face, and the way the man’s brows were knitted together in an emotion George couldn’t decipher. What the fuck? What the actual fuck?

He didn’t think the first proper emotion he’d feel when he saw Clay again would be wild rage throttling through his veins.

“That’s not my name anymore.”

George blinked. And then his lips curled into a sneer. Five years. Five years and this is all he had to say.

“He goes by Dream now,” Sapnap chimed in from where he sat on Will’s stupid fucking chair, flicking through George’s documents. He didn’t even order Sapnap to drop them, too hyper fixated on the man who was now stood in front of him, arms folded as he cocked his head down at George.

“That’s a dumb fucking name.” Clay’s eyes widened in surprise, and Sapnap paused to look up at the two of them in shock. Even George blinked down at himself, tearing his gaze away from _Dream_.

“He’s not coming with me to the dinner,” George said quickly after, side stepping around Dream to glare at Sapnap. He wanted to just try and ignore the other man. Didn’t want to have to be forced to face him now, especially with Sapnap in the goddamn room with them.

Clay had been his best friend for years. Had been _his_ person. And maybe George had been foolish and naïve to think that they would never stop being best friends. That just because Clay left the Jedi Order, didn’t mean he would leave George and Sapnap. And then he did. He literally fucking vanished off the plane of existence, without so much of a goodbye. Fuck that.

“ _George_ ,” Sapnap sighed, looking up at him with pleading eyes. George just scowled, folding his arms.

“It’s not like anyone’s going to try and fucking stab me in a room full of Senators, are they?” he objected, jutting out his jaw defiantly.

“Poison’s always an option.”

George glanced over his shoulder with a snarl. Clay was leaning against his desk, fingers tapping against the solid wood. Green eyes flickered with amusement. Dick. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“George, please. Just try it out for tonight.” George didn’t respond, just stood still and clenched his jaw, folding his arms tightly into himself. He glanced over at his friend when Sapnap stood up, gripping George’s shoulders with a soft face. “Look, I’m running out of options here. Just try this out while I try and catch whoever’s doing this, alright? I can’t…” he trailed off, dark eyes dropping to the floor. “Can’t have you dying on me, Georgie.”

George’s shoulders dropped and he bit the inside of his cheek before he nodded slowly. He could deal with this for Sapnap's sake, he supposed. If it stopped that weariness in Sap's eyes. A relieved grin tugged on his friend's lips and before George could object, he was being pulled into a tight hug by the younger man.

The dark feeling unfurling in his gut only grew as he felt a pair of eyes burning into his neck.

Maybe if the assassin who was supposedly out to get him wasn’t so shit at his job, George wouldn’t have to be trailed around by Clay. By Dream now, he guessed.

Well. This was going to take some getting used to.


	8. A Literal Fucking Criminal

Dream felt like he was breathing in glass.

Or that he was walking on glass, the marble floor under him turning into crystal and cracking with each step he took. With each step George took beside him. Since he had to take two for each of Dream’s, the glass under George was splintering faster. He could practically see George tumbling through the floor, arms outstretched and pleading for help. But then he sees that it’s Dream, and he pulls his hands back, breaking eye contact as he falls and falls and falls and

And Dream walked into a lamppost.

“Fuck me,” he hissed under his breath, rubbing at his head with the palm of his hand, already feeling the splitting headache. Sighing, he straightened back up, freezing up when he looked down to see George glaring at him, a whole fucking lot of irritation painting his sharp features. 

Dream’s never been as thankful for the bandana that hid his face more than then, masking the furious blush of embarrassment that coated his cheeks. “You should watch where you walk,” George said, voice cold and calculating as his blue eyes flicked up and down Dream before they settled on his face again, lips curling. Before Dream could even think of replying, George was already stalking down the street again, walking as fast as he could for the clear objective of pissing Dream off.

He decided to play ball, staying a couple steps behind the Senator as he followed him to the fancy restaurant where he’s having his goddamn dinner. George was wearing the same clothes; fitted mustard blazer over a sweater, complimenting the blue of the marks etched onto his cheeks.

George used to hate the markings. Used to snap at Sap whenever he pushed a joke about them too far, dark brows creasing in exasperation and internalised hatred. “Do you hate my freckles?” Dream had asked him once; they must’ve been about sixteen. Right before it happened. Maybe it’d been one of their last conversations. George had stared back at him, wide blue speckled with grey swirling back at him.

“Of course not,” George had replied instantly. “Why would you even think that?”

“Same thing as your markings,” Dream had muttered, hand moving up so he could brush his knuckles against his cheekbones, George’s skin feeling impossibly hot under his cold fingers.

Dream’s pretty sure George wouldn’t let him touch him with a ten-foot pole now, as his eyes drift back to the man storming a few beats in front of him. George walked with a straight back, with his head held properly, as if the streets looked to him. It stressed Dream out, walking under the manufactured lights of the city, in plain sight. It was then that the differences between the two of them finally hit him. A Senator and a bounty hunter, walking down the street together. Well, not really together, but it wasn’t like that was Dream’s problem.

Or maybe it was literally his problem. He was pretty much just a fucked-up babysitter if he thought about it. Maybe he should start trying to actually do his job.

It took him about two strides to reach George, slouching his hands into the deep pockets of his trench coat as he kept his head trained forward. He felt George’s eyes burning fucking holes into the side of his head. He clenched his jaw, physically having to restrain himself from turning when he felt George’s eyes flicker over all of him, dropping right down to Dream’s boots before they reached his face again.

Surprisingly, it was George who spoke first, voice bitter even as the shorter man clearly tried to restrain his annoyance. “You’re not going to be able to wear that bandana inside. You look like a fucking criminal.”

Dream snorted, taking that as an attempt at a joke. But George just watched him, eyes narrowing slowly as they continued through the streets. Their footsteps were a painful reminder of this thick awkward air between them, that Dream didn’t know how to get rid of. Didn’t know if he could.

“Didn’t Sapnap-”

“Of course, he did,” George cut him off, shrugging awkwardly in his blazer. “And even if he hadn’t, you’re pretty infamous.”

“Thanks,” Dream grinned, nodding in agreement. He had made a good name for himself. Had a reputation to uphold. One he'd worked hard at to achieve. 

“It wasn’t a fucking compliment, holy moons,” George swore as they rounded a corner. The cold air nipped at Dream's cheeks as they walked, neon lights aggressively screaming at his eyes. Fuck, he hated the upper city so much. He missed the underground. Missed the trains and his home and the feeling of being completely and utterly isolated in a city that breathed alongside its citizens. Just as he was thinking of a plan to go and bring Patches back to the temple, there was suddenly a tug on his sleeve, and he paused to stare down at George’s hand wrapped around his wrist, surprised at how small it looked. His sleeves covered most of it, his pale fingers gripping onto Dream tightly. As soon as George noticed Dream looking, he let go like he’d been burned by the contact, hiding his hand behind his back.

“Look, I know we were friends or whatever years ago, but clearly neither of us feel like that still. So, let’s just, I don’t know…” George was mumbling, words tumbling out of his mouth as fast as he was breathing. Dream just stood in front of him, body still as his brain tried to compute what George was saying. George didn’t want to be his friend. They weren’t friends anymore.

“Agree to work professionally. For Sapnap’s sake. Whenever he realises this is stupid, and you can fuck off back to killing people for a living.” Dream just blinked, nodding slowly along to George’s unrelenting ramble. This was a lot. Too much for Dream's brain to keep up with. Too much emotion for him to take in at once. "I don’t know why you’ve agreed to this, but if we just try to-”

“They were going to sell me out,” Dream interrupted. “They were going to sentence me,” he elaborated when George just looked up at him blankly, shrugging as his face was taken over by a cast of vexation. “If I didn’t do this. That’s why,” he clarified, adjusting the bandana on his face as he averted his eyes from George.

“Great.” The raw ire in George’s voice surprised him, and as he looked back and saw his blue eyes flickering in what he swore was hurt, he didn’t understand what was happening. “Now that we’ve solved that, take the goddamn bandana off, Cla-Dream.”

“No,” Dream objected, brows knitting when George sighed. “I don’t give a shit what your pompous little friends think about me, I’m not taking it off.”

“They’ll think you’re a _criminal_ ,” George exclaimed, voice dry as Dream shook his head.

“I am,” he shrugged, scowling under his mask. “Said it yourself.” He didn't know why he was letting George get under his skin this easily. But there was just something off about the shorter man's voice that was threatening to pull on his tether. Something off about the way George kept looking at him. It was the exact opposite to the way Dream found himself looking at George.

“What the fuck,” the Senator hissed, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You’re pissed off I called you a criminal?” he asked, incredulous. “You’re literally a bounty hunter.”

“It isn’t about what you said,” Dream argued back, a rising anger snaking up in his gut. “It’s the way you said it. Like I’m literal scum or something.”

“You are a _literal fucking criminal_!” George repeated, hands digging into his hair as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. As if Dream was the crazy one here. As if Dream wasn’t putting his own goddamn life on the line to save his sorry ass. Just like he had when they were kids. He’d ended right back at George’s heel, following behind, weapon clutched in his hand, like a wraith.

They glared at each other, red painting George’s features as Dream schooled his face into a mask of indifference, purely because he knew it would piss George off.

Sapnap had warned him. After he’d let Tubbo _guide_ him back to the Temple, leading him right up to the cafeteria. “Tommy says everyone’s in here,” Tubbo had informed him, and Dream had frowned when the boy grabbed his hand but before he could say anything, the kid was pulling him through the door.

“Tubbo, big man!” A loud voice shouted in his ear, Dream wincing as he turned, Tubbo’s hand dropping from his so he could hug a tall blond boy that looked about the same age as him. “You found him,” he laughed, grinning as he looked at Dream. At that, silence fell over the hall, and a couple people turned to watch them.

Dream stood awkwardly as the two boys started speaking rapidly, so many questions firing off that he wasn’t sure they were still speaking the same language. And he was so dazed from the scene unfolding in front of him that he didn’t notice Sapnap standing up from where he was sitting with Niki and Eret, stomping over to him.

“Uh…I…” Dream tried as Tubbo and the Tommy kid started asking him how many people he’d killed, taking a step backwards away from them. Just to be socked in the stomach by Sapnap.

“What the _fuck_ , Sapnap?” Dream wheezed in pain as he doubled over, clutching at his stomach. At least Tubbo and Tommy had fucked off, he thought as he realised the humming of chatter had resumed, the two boys’ screams disappeared. But that joy was short lived as Sapnap practically shoved him out of the hall, dark eyes storming with rage.

“I should be asking you that, dickhead,” the younger man scowled when the door shut behind them, blocking everyone else out. “You disappeared on me.”

Dream just frowned, pressing his lips into a thin line as he refused to speak. “You look like shit,” Sapnap said, nose crinkling in annoyance. Dream rolled his eyes but before he could retaliate, Sap was speaking again, tone changed. “Where did you go?” he asked, voice still angry, but tided by concern.

“You’re not my keeper, Sapnap,” Dream retorted, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall. His friend didn’t respond, just stood beside Dream and waited; dark brows raised. Dream bit the inside of his cheek before he gave in, dropping down to the floor, knees in a basket. Sapnap instantly sat down beside him, tucking his legs into his chest and resting his head on his knees as he tilted his head up at Dream. He realised again how much his friend had changed, unable to look at Sapnap, this Sapnap, with a scar on his neck and a scrappy beard, and not see the old Sapnap, with scabbing knees and a shit eating grin.

“I went to the Senate Building,” Dream admitted, voice high enough so Sapnap could hear him, but low enough for Dream to pretend that he didn’t say it. “I just wanted to see him before he saw me,” Dream explained, as if it was the most logical thing in the Galaxy. Sapnap nodded, face half buried by his knees, but Dream already knew he had that stupid smile on his face.

But then his face clouded over slightly, dark eyes dropping to the ground before he spoke. “He was really fucked when you left, you know?” he said, licking his bottom lip. “And then when you completely vanished, he was so fucking pissed off. I’ve never seen George that mad. And then this Dream name starts cropping up, and Phil figures out it’s you, and I’m like, _dude what_?” Dream bit back a laugh as Sapnap sighed, bringing his head out of his knees to look up at him. “I considered not even telling him. But I figured he kind of had the right to know, if I did.”

“Alright,” Dream nodded after a moment of stillness, taking Sapnap’s silence as an indication as to how George’s reaction went.

“He’s going to be pissed off. At us both,” Sapnap shrugged, raking a hand through his wavy hair. “But I mean, I’m worried about him. Like seriously worried. Someone’s trying to kill him, man. And George is smart but holy fuck sometimes he is so dense.”

Dream laughed. Not his proper uncontrollable wheeze. But he chuckled. And it was enough to make Sap smile slightly, dimples in his cheeks crinkling. “I don’t know if he’s going to forgive you,” he said. “Like ever. And I don’t know if there’s anything you can do to make him forgive you. But I need you to not let him die, alright.”

“Alright.”

Sapnap nodded, clearly satisfied with that response, as he leaned back against the wall, head tilted up to the ceiling. “Do you think you’ll ever forgive me?” Dream asked suddenly, surprising himself. Sapnap actually didn’t seem too surprised, not even looking at Dream as he shrugged. “Are you sorry?”

Dream thought about it, running his tongue along his teeth. He had missed Sapnap. Hadn’t realised how much he’d actually missed his friend until he’d crashed into his life again, guns a blazing. He doesn’t regret leaving the temple. Doesn’t regret what he does now, who he’s become. But he reckons he could’ve sent the man a couple of postcards over the past years at least.

“I am,” Dream had nodded, voice sincere, glancing down at Sapnap as the man leant his head against Dream’s shoulder.

“Then yeah. I forgive you.”

Dream hadn’t been expecting the same kind of clemency from George. But he also hadn’t been expecting this. Hadn’t been expecting this whole new person, who would rather completely ignore Dream than acknowledge the man’s presence.

Before he could object to George, before he could fight back, the door they’d stopped outside swung open, revealing the same guy George had been talking to earlier that day. The two men outside both looked up at the same time, frowning deeply at the brunet who had pulled the door open. George dropped his hands from his hair, throat bobbing as his blue eyes danced from Dream to the guy in the threshold, biting his lip nervously before he spoke. "Sorry I'm late. I got...caught up." 

Dream just stood there, not trying to hide how pissed off he was now as the guy grinned up at him, revealing perfectly white teeth. It felt more threatening than it probably should have.

“George,” the guy said, accent thick as his eyes stayed on Dream. He had the same type of markings as George on his face, dark waves falling in his face as he stood to the side to let them in.

“I see you finally brought a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading and your lovely comments they motivate me to write so much when the vibes are not it :)


	9. The Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the girls are fighting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello there :D

George had his list of shitty days.

Considering he’d lived through two assassination attempts (that he knew of at least) he probably shouldn’t be as pissed off as he was currently. He tried to put it into perspective, tried to think about how he’d felt when Schlatt had taken his votes, when he’d been ridiculed in his first year of office by every single other senator, when he’d been photographed with Maia and suddenly plastered on every single fucking screen in the city was his face with stupid headlines about him and his friend.

Somehow, none of those things were measuring up to the annoyance coursing through his veins as he stood in Wilbur’s hall beside Clay, fuck, _Dream_. “Holy moons, if you don’t take that fucking bandana off,” he snarled as the man wandered around the room, flicking at the golden mirror that stood against the wall.

Dream turned to face him; green eyes narrowed with irritation. He looked like he was about to speak, to sprout more bullshit, when Wilbur walked back in, clapping his hands together. “Right,” he started, dark eyes flicking from George to Dream before they settled on George, accompanied with an amused smirk. “I need to speak with you for a moment, George,” he said, licking his bottom lip as he gestured behind him with his head.

He’d combed his hair, brown waves neat against his head. George resisted the urge to rake his fingers through his own hair, which he knew for a fact didn’t look as nice as Will’s. His eyes dropped down to his outfit, the outfit he hadn’t changed out of since the speech, and then to Will’s; fitted trousers with traditional blue embroidery, and a clean, pressed shirt and blazer. Well, this was just great. He’d been shown up by his own fucking advisory.

“Fine, whatever,” George muttered, moving to follow Will when he was met with a wall of green. “ _Move_ ,” he snarled up at Dream, who was standing in front of him, arms folded. He could feel the crimson embarrassment sneaking up onto his cheeks as Dream shook his head defiantly.

“Sithspit,” Will cursed, rolling his eyes as he lightly tugged on George’s sleeves. “No need to get clingy, mate. This is purely a professional issue I need to speak to our dear Senator about.”

That didn’t seem to even remotely placate Dream, but he didn’t stop George when he gingerly stepped around him, not letting himself get even an inch’s width close to the blond. “Just…stay here,” Will told Dream before he practically shoved George into a door, nearly whacking his head off of the doorframe.

It took George a moment to register that they were in a closet. Wilbur pressed against him as he moved his arm, flicking on a light switch. “What the fuck, Will?” George barked out as he tried not to stumble over the shoes piled high underneath him.

“Language,” Wilbur grinned, and George didn’t even have time to point out that he had sworn less than thirty seconds ago before Will was speaking again. “When I said bring a date George, I didn’t mean a bounty hunter. I know you’re into blonds, mate.” George let out a restrained scream, burying his face in his hands as embarrassment washed over him. “But I was thinking you could bring an aristocrat or something.”

George paled, peeling his hands away as he still refused to meet Will’s eyes. “It’s a long story,” he sighed under his breath.

“You do know who that guy is, right?” Wilbur asked, eyes wide as he pointed at the door. George absently wondered if Dream could hear everything they were saying. “You do know that he is literally the most infamous bounty hunter in maybe the whole goddamn Galactic Republic.”

“Yes Wilbur,” George hissed as he clamped a hand over Will’s mouth. “I’m _aware_. I am painfully aware of who he is.” He took a heavy breath in as Wilbur lowered his brows at George, face unamused. George dropped his hand, leaning his head against the wall. 

“Alright,” Will nodded.

“Alright,” George nodded back, assuming that was that. Wilbur’s face crumbled into annoyance.

“No, now’s the part where you tell me why the fuck _Dream_ is standing in my hall?”

“I already said,” George hissed, voice too loud to be a proper whisper. “That it’s a _long story_.”

“Caraya’s soul, George,” Will sighed, hands over his face. Brown eyes met blue ones as Will peeked through his fingers.

“He’s not going to hurt anyone,” George said, voice bordering on pleading. “Can you just trust me on this, please?” he asked.

“You’ll tell me everything later?” Wilbur demanded, biting down on his bottom lip. He looked like he was considering it. Will had a face for when he considered things. Biting on the bottom lip, space in between his brows furrowing. It was a dead giveaway in negotiations. But right now, it was all George needed,

He nodded, probably a bit too enthusiastically, hair falling in his face. Wilbur let go a loose sigh before he begrudgingly nodded. “Alright, fine. Let’s go,” he shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. “Everyone will be wondering where I am,” he added with a smirk before he pulled the door open.

Dream was standing at the other side of the hall, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as he kept his eyes furiously trained on the floor, as if there was something incredibly interesting about Will’s wooden floorboards.

He blinked up in surprise when Will stuck his hand out in his direction, meeting George’s eyes as if to ask what he was supposed to do. George just scowled. Stupid fuck. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, George’s date,” Wilbur smiled when Dream cautiously shook his hand. “Unfortunately, this is a black-tie event.”

Dream just blinked down at him. George watched as Wilbur bit back a sigh, repressing a laugh as Dream didn’t pick up on the silent social cues Wilbur was trying to get across.

“Means you can’t wear the fucking bandana, asshole,” Will rolled his eyes. He cut Dream off when the blond went to protest, folding his arms tightly and lowering his brows. “Look, I don’t know why you’re here with George, but you walk into that dining room with that on and everyone’s gonna know who you are.”

When Dream didn’t move, jaw clearly clenched under the white fabric Wilbur turned to shoot George a look over his shoulder. George just shrugged. He didn’t know why Wilbur thought George had any power over what Dream did. He’d always done that, since they were children. That being whatever the fuck he wanted.

“You get why that might be an issue, right?” Will asked. “You’ll be thrown in jail, idiot,” he added. That seemed to work, because Dream gingerly reached up, revealing chapped lips and a jaw flecked with scars as he tugged off his bandana and shoved it in his pocket.

“Great,” Wilbur said, mock congratulations dripping in his voice. “Now we just hope none of them ask you about the getup.” He turned on his heels, leading them through tall corridors with wallpaper depicting scenery from Fouröh, of blue birds and sprawling mountains.

George managed to plaster the signature senator smile on his lips, keeping his back straight as they entered the dining room. It looked like everyone was already there, because of course everyone was, as seven faces turned to stare at him.

“Evening everyone,” he tried, awkwardly nodding his head before he slipped into one of the free seats. He pushed his lips together when Dream stayed in the threshold, green eyes glaring at the senators, one by one. Clenching his jaw, he debated leaving him standing there, letting the idiot embarrass himself, and George in turn. But Wilbur was already covering it, coming up behind Dream and not so subtly elbowing him in the back, causing the blond to stumble forward.

Dream sat in the chair beside George, dropping back into it with a frown aimed right at Will, who took the chair at the top of the table, leaning his head on his hands and merely throwing Dream one of his signature simpers. To George’s surprise, Dream didn’t even flinch. Actually, the scowl on his face turned into a smirk, more tooth than smile. He’d never wanted to rip his hair out more than he did in that moment.

A voice beside him ripped him out of his murderous thoughts centred around Dream, and now Wilbur. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Senator Enes.” He smiled as he turned to face Ant, the Cathar Senator, a genuine smile, not one he’d practised desperately in the mirror after all the tabloids had commented on his scowl during his first week at the Senate. He’d always liked Ant, with Senator Frost being one of the few people apart from Bad who didn’t treat him like a spoiled child in the Senate. He’d already given George and Will his vote, had as soon as George had even brought up the subject with him.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Senator Frost. How’s Red?” He asked, remembering how Bad had told him about Ant’s partner falling ill recently.

“He’s doing better, thank you. Too ill to join us tonight unfortunately. But I’ve never made acquaintance with your guest.” Ant smiled back at him, his dark tail curling up around his chair even as his yellow eyes seemed to darken slightly, narrowing in the light as he gestured to Dream. He didn’t even realise everyone was looking at him, the other people in the room, two who George recognised as the Senator and advisory from Alsakan and the other from various operas and ballets Will had dragged him too, narrowing their eyes as Dream tapped his fork against his plate.

He froze when George grabbed his wrist. Breathing hitching, he turned to him, eyes flicking up and down his face. George’s stomach clenched when they dropped to his lips, Dream’s jaw locking and unlocking. “This is Exdee,” George lied easily as he snatched his hand away from Dream, hiding it under the table so no one could see how he was pathetically shaking. At least the tapping had stopped.

“He’s from Courscant,” he said, tearing his gaze away from green eyes, hating how fucking smooth his voice sounded while he was dying on the inside. Hated that his Senator mask was coming out in front of Dream. And holy moons if he didn’t hate that he still cared, still gave a shit, what Dream thought of him. He took to training his eyes on the empty plate in front of him, god forbid he might look at Dream again.

“How lovely,” Ant said, but his voice sounded distorted to George as he dug his nails into his trousers. Caraya’s soul, he cursed himself as he glanced down at his hand, how could he feel like he’d been burned, been cut, just by grazing Dream’s skin.

“And how do you know our lovely George?” He snapped his head up at that, widening his eyes at Wilbur, who just shrugged innocently. He didn’t drop Will’s eyes, trying to convey that his friend needed to shut the hell up, but as the waiters entered the room, placing plates of steak in front of everyone, Will had already turned back to Dream.

“Mutual friends,” Dream answered with a shrug, staring at the steak on his plate as if he didn’t quite understand what was in front of him.

“I wouldn’t say that,” George muttered under his breath, unable to keep the bite out of his voice.

“And what _would_ you say then?” Dream asked, turning in his chair so his whole body was facing George. Biting on his bottom lip, George picked up his cutlery, shaking his head, begging his stature to be loose, trying to silently uncoil the burning feeling in his gut. The burning feeling that worsened every time Dream fucking so much as glanced at him. Sithspit, he’d never felt this much raw anger for someone before, not Schlatt, not the Trade Federation. Even his political enemies didn’t start off this much of a physical reaction within him.

Before George could even answer, Wilbur’s voice sliced through the stiff air. “So, you like short guys then, Exdee?”

Beside him, Ant spluttered on his wine, his grey ears flattening against his head as he looked from Will to George to Dream, as if waiting to see which one would explode first. The Senator from Alaskan laughed sheepishly, clearly unsure how to handle the situation. The advisor just looked uncomfortable.

“ _Wilbur_ ,” George hissed, his hands strangled with white as he tightened his hold on the knife in his fingers. Fuck, how he wanted to just toss it into his friend’s stupid, goddamn smirking face.

“What?” Wilbur shrugged with mock innocence. “We’re all friends here. I’m just trying to find out a bit more about our new friend, Exdee.” Will was purposefully over pronouncing the fake name, pointedly dragging out every syllable in his stupid melodic voice. George wanted to rip out his tongue.

“I guess I am,” Dream nodded before George could reply, tilting his head as he looked up at Wilbur. The pair of them had eerily similar smirks on their face as they stared each other down, almost like they were baring their teeth instead of smiling. George had never wanted the floor to swallow him whole as much as he did there and then.

He spent the rest of the dinner wanting that same wish, spent the rest of the meal with his skin feeling too tight over his body. Wilbur calmed down a bit at least, and even though he liked throwing in snide comments that only Dream and George would pick up on every few minutes, the meal was normal levels of awkward. Like a dinner between Senators using every word to progress their own agenda, hidden underneath layers of niceties could be anything but awkward.

When the dessert was being place in front of him, George suddenly realised he’d been spending the whole night watching Dream out of the corner of his eye. Mainly because he ate like a cross between a pig and a starving man. His steak had vanished off of his plate before George had even got through his first bite, and the man looked torn between whether or not he should pick the thing up and lick the juice off. And when Wilbur offered him seconds, he didn’t even hesitate to agree, holding his plate out with no shame.

He also seemed to be genuinely listening into the conversation thrown around the table from senator to senator, advisor to advisor. He didn’t add anything, to which George was infinitely grateful for, because if Dream embarrassed him more than he already had with his mere presence, Sapnap could fucking kiss him allowing this stupid charade to carry on any longer goodbye. 

But he just couldn’t seem to look away from him as he leaned his head on his hands, elbows on the tablecloth, leaning forward and scanning peoples’ faces as they spoke. Green eyes flickered from person to person, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he listened. George didn’t remember Dream’s eyes ever been that green. Impossibly so.

It kind of hurt to see how different the man sitting beside him was to the boy who had tried to teach him sabacc and laughed when he couldn’t remember all the rules in his head. That boy had wanted to become the Grand Master of the Temple, studied and trained every day. This man was decorated in scars, was one fuck up away from a life in prison.

There was a long, silvery scar that snacked its way from his right eye to his lip, and George wondered how the hell one even got a scar like that without your face splitting open completely. More zigzagged across his jaw, all the way down his neck, and George just knew it probably drove everyone fucking mental for him. The scars, the arrogant way he arched his eyebrow, the way he constantly carded his large, calloused hands through his fucking wavy hair that looked like gold itself.

He didn’t realise he was staring until Dream grinned at him. Scowling, he turned away. But not before noting he had a chipped tooth. Well, everyone had their flaws, couldn’t all be winners. Dream was the galaxy’s most infamous bounty hunter, had slaughtered probably hundreds of people for money. And he had a chipped tooth.

Just as George was starting to think that the dinner went just as well as it could’ve, even if Dream had caught him staring, the civil war on Ura was brought up. And Dream decided to open his mouth - as if anyone cared about his opinion.

“If the Republic don’t send aid, then it’ll never end,” George said to Ant, who nodded along as he twirled his whiskers in his fingers. “It’ll be a bloodbath.”

“And if the Republic get involved, it’s a statement. And the Republic’s never been a fan of those.”

George froze, lips parting in what he couldn’t even tell was irritation, shock, or the desire to smash Dream’s head off of the table. When he turned his head to the side, left eye twitching slightly, Dream was just scooping ice cream into his face, leg throw over the side of the chair.

“ _What_. Did you just say?” George said, the words coming out as more of a violent shudder than anything else.

“Come on now, does anyone really think that the Senate is going to send aid to some planet in the middle of nowhere, that no one cares about, when they could just let the whole war fizzle out?”

It wasn’t even what he was saying that was threatening to drive George to commit homicide. It was the way he didn’t care. It was the way he was still eating fucking ice cream, blowing hair out of his face as he leaned back on his chair, because he didn’t care. And George cared so much it hurt him, kept him up at night. George cared so much he had dedicated months to trying to get people like Dream to change their mind.

“You don’t just leave wars to _fizzle_ out,” he hissed, leaning closer.

“Sure you do. Especially if they’re civil wars,” Dream shrugged, dropping the spoon back into the bowl with a click of his tongue.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that the war on Ura isn’t any of the Republic’s business.”

“People are dying,” George snarled, throat bobbing.

“Have they ever asked for your help?”

“You’re a selfish asshole,” George scowled, folding his arms in close to his chest, completely forgetting where they are as his eyes stayed locked onto Dream’s. This used to happen when they were younger, when George used to think Dream was the sun he could revolve around. He would forget they weren’t the only two souls in the whole entire universe, just lying amongst the stars together. And as they spat fire between each other, everyone else, everywhere else, dissolved into nothingness.

And there was only Clay.

“Probably,” Dream nodded, swinging his legs off of the armrest to lean closer to George. He instinctively moved back, flinching when Dream grinned up at him. If he moved any closer, they’d be touching. When Dream breathed out slowly, hot against his face, George’s mouth went dry. “But you’re just an idealist who no one is ever going to take seriously.”

He blinked, and everyone in the room instantly materialised back into place. Retreating back into his chair, he desperately tried to come up with a retort, telling himself to just roll his eyes, show them all, prove to them all you don’t care. But Dream had just breathed George’s worst fear into his lungs. He didn’t even realise it, but within less than a day of storming his way back into his life, he had started throwing punches to the very frail, easily broken mindset in George’s head.

His brain was malfunctioning, short-circuiting as all of his thoughts about Dream and about the war and about himself threatened to break him. So, George did what George always did when he felt like he was dying. He turned to look at Wilbur, eyes wide and slightly terrified.

“Well, it’s been a lovely evening,” Wilbur said after nodding to George, the motion so minuscule and instinctive that he was the only one who picked up on it. “But I think we’re all tired,” he said easily, an easy smile on his face. Everything came easily to Wilbur. Politics, other people, social situations. Everything that made George want to disappear.

He leaned back into his chair as everyone filed out of the room amongst mild, meaningless chatter. Ant clapped him on the shoulder on his way out, but all George could manage was a nod of acknowledgment. When everyone had cleared the dining room, George tilted his head to look at Dream, who was looking at George. He fucking hated that he was looking at him.

“I hate you,” he breathed, and the honesty of the statement surprised even him. Dream blinked, wetting his bottom lip before he nodded, “I know you do, Georgie.” Dusting off his hands, he stood, gesturing for George to follow him.

George didn’t move. “Don’t call me that,” he said with a scowl, head rolling away from Dream’s direction. “I hate you.”

“Yep, already said that.”

Hatred coursed through his body, snaking through the blood thudding though his veins. He stood from his chair, the legs scraping harshly against the wooden floors as he pointed an accusing finger into Dream’s chest.

“Fuck you, Clay,” he spat. “You embarrassed me. I don’t need this shit, go tell Sapnap that, _whatever this is_ , it isn’t working.”

“I’m not doing that,” Dream said, following him as George left the room, trying his very best to not act like a toddler throwing a tantrum as he kicked open the door.

“Yes, the hell you are,” he hissed, spinning around on his heels to see Dream leaning against the threshold, arms folded and watching George cautiously

“I’m not going to jail because you don’t like that I insulted you.”

“You insulted me in front of my _peers_ ,” George yelled, partly forgetting but mostly not really caring that they were still in Will’s house, standing in his hall and having a screaming match. “Oh, and newsflash asshole, I don’t give a shit if you go to jail. Actually, I hope they send you to jail for the rest of your pathetic life. Because, like I said before, you’re a literal fucking criminal!”

“You can tell Sapnap then,” Dream shrugged, exterior seemingly casual, as if he couldn’t care less. But as much as he wanted to forget it, George had been Dream’s best friend for years, and he could tell when he was pissed off and trying to hide it, and hell, if Dream’s straightened back wasn’t a dead giveaway that he was fuming. “You can deal with his little sad face if you want.”

“Please,” George rolled his eyes. “I’ve been living with Sapnap’s sad face for ten years now.” The insult was there, hanging in the air as they glared at each other, dark eyes furiously clashing against green ones. _You abandoned us, you left us, for ten years, you traitor,_ screaming at the both of them. _I abandoned you, I left you, for ten years because I don’t give a shit._

“You do realise I’m the one pulling the short stick here?” Dream growled as he crossed the room, tilting his head so he could condescendingly glower down at George, arms folded. “If this all goes to shit, I go to prison, but you fucking die, get poisoned, blown up, whatever. You’re getting way more out of this than I am.”

“I’d literally rather die than have you be the one to save my life.”

“You’re insane!” Dream yelled after him as George ducked under his arms, practically running up Wilbur’s stairs, taking the ugly yellow carpeted stairs two at a time, needing to get the fuck away from Dream as quickly as he could. “You’re still as dramatic as ever, do you even hear what you’re saying?”

“Suck a dick, Clay.”

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I am not going home with _you_ ,” he spat as he turned to glance at him from over his shoulder on the landing, curling his lip. Dream was standing at the bottom of the stairs, taking up too much space in the hall, in George’s head, in the fucking galaxy. And he was looking up at George like _he_ was the crazy one here.

“Look sweetheart-”

“Call me that again, I fucking dare you, I’ll-”

“I don’t care if you don’t like me, but I’ve got a job to do.”

“I’m staying here,” George said with all the finality he could muster, folding his arms. “I don’t care what you do. Preferable you’d go back to whatever hole you crawled out of and stay there until you die.” And with that, he stormed into the closest room, slamming the door with all his might, throwing the trying-his-best-to-not-act-like-a-child idea out of the window.

The ugly paintings of salmon on the wall rattled for a moment, but George couldn’t bring it in himself to care if one of Will’s paintings broke as he dropped down to the floor, leaning his head against the door. Bringing his legs in tight to his chest, he dropped his head onto his knees.

Caraya’s soul, he was fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah hello hello yes it is me bringing this fic back. I don't know how regularly I will update because ive got another fic on the go still, but I love this idea and world and don't want to abandon it, so here I am to feed the fellow Star Wars mcyt fans :)
> 
> all your kudos and comments and love for this fic have meant the world to me, so thank you so much and I hope this chapter was worth the wait

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos make me :D


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